


Make Hell Feel Like Home

by son_of_a_bitch_spn_family



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Demon Dean, Graphic Depictions of Torture, I know it seems bad but...well its worth it, M/M, MCD is because Sam dies of old age, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, Pining, Very Hannibal-esque, blood warning, graphic depictions of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 43,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family
Summary: The Dean everyone once knew is gone, replaced by a conniving creature with an addiction to chaos. Trailing murders behind him, Cas and Sam race to catch Dean and save him from himself.But Dean isn't in the business of lying to himself anymore, and he wants Cas like he never let himself before he woke up in his demonic state. While Dean tries to force happiness on Sam in the form of Eileen Leahy, Cas has to fight the constant battle of his grace mysteriously acting faulty.Having always loved Dean, no matter what, Cas is now faced with the need to do right for the world, and the need for Dean - a thing that used to align. Struggling with separating the two, Cas straddles the line between giving in and making a very hard decision.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow. I can't believe I'm finally posting this! I have to give a major shout-out to my friend Jscribbles for being the number one cheerleader from day one! Another major shout-out to Anyrei for creating all the amazing art for this fic. And a major thanks to Ellen_of_Oz who's betaing my fic as I'm posting it!
> 
> A warning: The fic is a bit heavy, so read the tags and the warnings before the heavier chapters! Thank you all and enjoy! <3

The part that kills Cas the most is that Dean is genuine when he says he doesn't want to be cured.

 

People are arranged carefully across the floor, blood soaking into the carpet—shaped like wings—and Cas has no doubts about who this was meant for. Sam eyes him from the side, gentle gaze probing him for some reaction.

 

Cas wishes he had one to give.

 

“It's not something we've ever seen before,” the cop says, frowning at the victims. “What's worse, there's something unexplainable about it.”

 

“What's that?” Cas asks warily.

 

“They were alive…” the cop murmurs, horrified. “They lived through it. Right up until the end.”

 

Cas stares at the woman perched in the middle, her eyes vacant and sure. She does not look afraid; she looks _saved._ Cas knows she felt nothing, though she lived. This wasn't about her death.

 

It was about his statement.

 

Dean has said a lot over the years, but this is the most he's ever expressed without any regret. He makes his statement, tells his story, with the blood and limbs of throwaway people. People he used to save. Cas looks away.

 

* * *

 

 

“He's taunting us,” Sam announces over lunch, lips twisting as he picks at his food. _Taunting you,_ he doesn't say, but Cas hears it anyway.

 

“He is,” Cas agrees, staring at the fries in front of him. He waits for them to disappear, waits for Dean to snatch them when no one looks. Everytime Cas checks, they all remain.

 

“I don't know what to do,” Sam admits, sliding his food away. “I— I don't know if there is anything we _can_ do.”

 

Cas’ eyes curve sharply to meet Sam's. They can't do this. Giving up is turning a blind eye. It's letting the world finally be destroyed, simply because Dean's the destruction. They've never— they _will_ never do that. They can't.

 

“He's leaving a trail,” Cas says softly.

 

“I know,” Sam murmurs, averting his eyes as he chooses his next words carefully. “Did you see the… wings? This one was for you.”

 

“It was,” Cas whispers and closes his eyes. He can still see the bodies behind his eyelids, see the blood and reverence on the victims faces. Cas blinks, continues, “and he left me a gift.”

 

“How?” Sam snaps, eyes growing wide.

 

“The expressions of their faces. Did you see them?” Cas mutters.

 

Sam swallows. “I did.”

 

“That wasn't for him; it was for me. He _wants_ me to know that I save. Even now, he is trying to reassure me,” Cas admits, a small frown tugging his lips. He fiddles with his fingers, a swooping feeling solidifying in his gut. “It's a gift. Something he thinks I'll find comfort in.”

 

“Does he truly think that?” Sam scoffs.

 

“He hopes,” Cas corrects. “He knows it will hurt, but he hopes I get the gift. He hopes I will like it, and he hopes I will understand it.”

 

“Do you?” Sam asks curiously. He's wary.

 

Cas doesn't lie. “The fact that some part of him doesn't want me to hurt is… comforting, but it's not enough. It never will be.”

 

“Cas,” Sam says, his voice apologetic and uncertain, “I'm sorry.”

 

“Me too,” Cas replies.

 

They don't eat. Sam stares at the people around them, scanning their faces like he's already preparing them to die at Dean's hands. Guilt crowds around their table, joining them for a lunch they won't eat. Eventually, Sam grows tired of finding Dean's potential victims, and he turns a questioning gaze to Cas.

 

“Why did he do this?” Sam asks. It's a childish question, wanting answers that would clear a route to explanation.

 

Cas knows Sam won't enjoy the truth, but he's never been much of a liar. “He's… courting me.”

 

Sam blinks, coughs out, “What, why?”

 

“Residual feelings, maybe?” Cas suggests, shrugging. “Or, he knows I'll be all that's left, if he gets his say. The last tie to the world he's freed himself of. He wants to keep that, to keep me. But then again, what do I know anymore?”

 

Sam grimaces. He shifts in his seat, chewing his lip. Cas watches him bite back the following question for as long as he can. He knows Sam is aware of what sat between them. He was always too observant about certain things.

 

“Do you—” Sam halts. He knows that answer already and changes his mind, asking something he doesn't know, something he doesn't necessarily _want_ to know, but needs to. “Is it working? The courting, I mean?”

 

Cas closes his eyes again, lips pressing together in a thin line. He wants to tell Sam with assured confidence that it's not, that it never could, but he feels Dean's comfort like a caress over his cheek. It doesn't fix things, but it feels nice. And yes, Cas saw the expressions, but he also saw the bodies. He saw the absence of life, the beginnings of humanity being snuffed out.

 

A promise.

 

Cas takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and tells Sam the truth, “I don't know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Posting days will be on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 
> 
> A major shout-out to MalMuses who saved my life and helped me add the art by the wonderful anyrei here! Go have a look at the cover in the first chapter.

The bunker always feels cold and sterile now. 

 

Dean isn't there to cook, to set the table and force them into family meals. He doesn't leave the lights on after he's finished using them. There are no strewn books left from where he didn't put them back after pulling them down. Littered bottles of half-drunken whiskey don't appear on desktops or little hidden spots among the shelves. His eyes don't brighten the rooms and the lack of his smile seeps the warmth from them. He's not there, and it's no longer a home. 

 

It always feels sharper and barren after coming from a crime scene. Sam usually disappears, taking time to mourn alone. Cas doesn't object, just takes his own grief and lets it assault him. But this time, Sam hovers. 

 

They will go through the motions tomorrow. They will start looking for ways to follow Dean's trail and catch up to him before he can cause more chaos. They'll peruse books and stress themselves out, searching and searching—always searching. Day after day, they will work tirelessly, broken hopes banding them together as it separates them farther. And maybe they will find a lead, but by then, it will be too late. 

 

Then, they will be off to another haunting scene. 

 

Sam doesn't take himself away from Cas after arriving back at the bunker. He sits across from Cas and drinks the whiskey that Dean would've been drowning in if roles were reversed. They watch each other, eyes never quite straying. Sam looks at Cas like he might slip away, like the last ally he has is being evaporated before his very eyes. Cas wishes he could reassure him, but he's not sure what to say. 

 

For a long time, they don't say anything. Until Sam speaks up and whispers, “Do you think it's him? Is he…  _ aware _ of all of this?” 

 

“Does it matter?” Cas asks. He desperately hopes it does. 

 

“It should,” Sam replies. 

 

His voice is weak, like they've become. Circumstances bring upon perspective. If it was anyone else, they wouldn't hesitate. They wouldn't stare at each other and  _ hope;  _ they would just take it as is. 

 

Cas breathes deeply. “I want it to matter. He's not— he  _ wasn't. _ Is he? I don't know anymore.” 

 

“He says it is,” Sam pauses and waves a hand, casting his gaze away, “but do we believe him?” 

 

“Do we get to decide if we should or not?” Cas snaps, gritting his teeth as he leans forward. He clenches a fist on the table. “He wouldn't.”

 

“If it was us,” Sam remedies quickly. 

 

Cas relaxes slowly. Ah, of course. There  _ are  _ certain circumstances. He amends, “He wouldn't want us to.” 

 

Sam's eyebrows furrow. “I know.” 

 

“Have you called anyone yet?” Cas asks. 

 

“To say what?” Sam mutters, looking for a moment just as he used to. Witty, sarcastic, playful. “Ah, yes, sorry I've been MIA. My brother is now a demon who kills people to mock me and his angel. I'll keep you posted!” 

 

“Not his,” Cas corrects sharply. 

 

“Aren't you?” Sam challenges. 

 

It's a test, and Cas wants to be offended that Sam even dared to administer it. But Dean is courting Cas, using the blood of his victims and his easy control of their last moments as a prom proposal. He's waiting for Cas to say yes, and Sam isn't sure he won't. Cas isn't either. 

 

“If I am, I’ve failed him significantly,” Cas sighs, reaching up with one hand to rub his temple. 

 

Sam immediately adopts shame. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean that, Cas.” 

 

“Yes,” Cas croaks, closing his eyes, “you did.” 

 

“I just want to stop this,” Sam begs, his words a sorrowful plea, as if Cas can stop it all. 

 

Cas just stands, his head swaying back and forth. Angels aren't meant to get headaches, and yet, his head pounds anyway. He isn't much of an angel anymore as it is. He shuffles back, keeps his gaze away from Sam, and seeks refuge of his own. This time, Cas chooses to mourn alone, instead of that choice being taken from him. 

 

He heads to his room, steps quick and purposeful. He hears Sam gulp more whiskey, hissing as it goes down. Cas keeps walking, only slowing at Dean's door. He pauses and listens, but Sam hasn't followed him. 

 

Carefully, Cas opens Dean's door and walks in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It's almost as if being transported in time. 

 

Cas can pretend that Dean is in the war room with Sam, drinking and talking about whatever he desires. He'll be in his room later tonight, rearranging his weapons before getting into bed. His fingers will take apart each gun, deftly cleaning every single part, thanking them for all they do with gentle precision. 

 

Cas gazes at the weapons on his desk. They haven't been touched in months. 

 

Slowly, Cas walks over and stares down at the four weapons there. A simple handgun, a shotgun, an angel blade, and Dean's favorite gun. They're gathering dust. Closing his eyes, Cas imagines what Dean would do for them. 

 

Mechanics click in the silence of the room as Cas works through each piece. He cleans each methodically and with care, as Dean would've. Once the dust is gone, Cas opens his eyes and stares at them blankly. 

 

He does not feel better. 

 

“You should be here,” Cas whispers. 

 

As expected, there is no reply. Cas whirls away from the desk, his chest tightening. It doesn't feel like he's back in time anymore. Instead, it feels as if the room has become a shell, as if it was once a living, breathing thing and it has lost what fueled it to live. Cas can relate. 

 

The bed is made, nice and neat. For all Dean's posturing, he was always careful with the things he adored. Having a space to genuinely call home left him with no choice but to clean. Everything is placed in it's rightful spot, just waiting for Dean to come mess it up again. 

 

Suddenly, it feels as if Dean is dead. 

 

Cas tries to convince himself that isn't true. He knows, logically, that Dean is alive, but he still feels the loss like a venomous sting. It festeres within him, rotting away at his purpose, cutting off circulation to his very essence. He shuffles across the room, settling on the bed as he takes deep gulps of air. He fists his hands in the cold blanket and focuses on breathing. 

 

Only halfway to calm, Cas’ phone rings. 

 

“Yes?” His answer is sharp and biting. 

 

“Did you get my message?” 

 

Cas’ eyes fly open, and he feels all the air he'd been gulping in escape him at once. He clenches his hand around the phone, staring blankly across the room. Dean breathes, waiting patiently. 

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers. 

 

He should hang up, or no, he should take his phone to Sam. Try to trace the call, or get Dean to slip up. Try  _ something.  _ But Cas just listens to Dean hum confirmation on the other end. 

 

“Did you get my message?” Dean repeats, sounding like he always did, as if this was just another day in their lives from before. 

 

“I— Dean, where are you?” Cas blurts, tightening his fingers into the blankets with his free hand. 

 

Dean gives an annoyed sigh. “One more time, Cas, or I hang up; did you get my message?” 

 

Cas closes his eyes. It feels like his grace is shriveling within him when he responds, “Yes.” 

 

“Did you like it?” Dean teases,  _ flirts.  _

 

Oh no. No, no,  _ no.  _

 

“It was dead bodies, Dean,” Cas chokes out, bowing his head, “what do you think?” 

 

“I think you knew exactly what I was telling you, and I also think you  _ listened, _ ” Dean taunts, voice curling mockingly. “Did you listen, Cas?” 

 

“I did not enjoy what I heard,” Cas says, because it's true, because he doesn't want a repeat soundtrack, because he's  _ terrified.  _

 

Dean laughs, “But you heard.” 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Cas demands, reaching up to grip his mouth, dragging his fingers over his lips in pure dismay. 

 

“Because I can,” Dean whispers, his voice a sinister promise. 

 

The line goes dead. 

 

Cas takes in a shaky breath, his fumbling hands dropping his phone to the floor. The faint echo of Dean's voice dances in his mind, trying to offer solace and failing. Cas wants to escape it; he slides back across the bed, wrapping his trenchcoat tight around him. 

 

Cas curls up in Dean's bed, thinks of how the world will wither in Dean's hands, and he begins to wish Dean  _ was  _ dead. 

 

Anything besides this. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, told ya I'd be back on Wednesday! ;) 
> 
> Couple of warnings for this chapter... There are graphic depictions of murder in this chapter. It's very Hannibal-esque, so be very wary if that kinda thing squicks you out! 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Sam lays it out again. They've been through this, time and time again, but they still go back. They trace time back to the very moment the world lost one of its strongest guardians. 

 

There are papers and pictures placed in neat rows across the table, like keeping them in clean, straight lines will have them finally make sense. 

 

They sit elbow to elbow, gazing at the evidence of Dean's destruction, and Cas hates how many rows there are. All the photos and papers lay in order, marking the beginning of everything and through to the latest update. Cas lets his eyes reluctantly crawl to the first photo. 

 

Crowley. 

 

Though nothing more than a mere tiresome gnat to Cas, possibly a very lackluster ally at best, the contortion of Crowley's body in the picture still fills him with dread. His body was found at the peak of a church, spiked through a cross, and missing genitalia that was later found in a box in the middle of the crossroad near the church. 

 

Cas feels no pity for the demon, despite the discomfort the picture brings him. Sympathy is given those to who earn it; Crowley certainly hadn't. He might have one day—the potential was there—but Cas finds himself unable to forgive him for being the one to wake Dean and start him on his disastrous path. 

 

Curling his lip in disgust—both at the picture and the mere thought of the deceased King of Hell—Cas flicks his gaze to the next picture. 

 

The bodies of what seemed to be three humans were vibrant despite the absence of life. Cas and Sam had determined that they were demons, but the picture still makes him flinch. Dean had used them as playthings, leaving them without eyes and using their sulfur to shape halos around their heads. The sight makes Cas’ stomach clench, and it's easy to imagine the curling of smoke that had no chance of escape as Dean administered his fun. Once dead, the bodies had resorted to the former deaths before the demonic occupants had rendered them meaningless. 

 

Dragging his eyes away is no easy task, but Cas manages. His eyes fall to the next and catch. He has no ties to this particular murder, not besides Dean. The man in the photo is shoved into an ill-fitted suit, looking slightly disproportionate. His skin is marred and flaking from where he'd been burned. At first, Cas hadn't understood  _ why  _ Dean would do such a thing, but there was a note. 

 

Cas lets his eyes scan the note, reading:  **Sammy, he wanted to be Lucifer's vessel. Can you believe it? Don't worry, I took care of him for you.**

 

The note is crumbled slightly from where Sam had clenched his fists around it. Cas remembers the pain, the  _ guilt  _ on Sam face, how he'd shakily smoothed out the paper and his throat bobbed as he pocketed it. Cas knows how upset he was—still is—over the leader of a Satanic Cult, but he never had any words of comfort to offer. 

 

He still doesn't. 

 

After that, they'd redoubled their efforts. That had been Dean's first legitimate human murder, and they hadn't wanted to risk another.  For a moment, it had felt like they were close. Catching him in a warehouse, throwing insults and threats like they had any strength to follow through… it only ended in disaster. It became clear that they'd never “caught” Dean, and he'd made it  _ very  _ clear that he was himself and never wanted to change. 

 

It set them back, emotions and grief sending them spiralling. They hadn't given up, just wallowed. But Dean wasn't done having his fun, and he left them another murder to find. 

 

Cas forces himself to stare at the picture of his brother. In a female vessel, his brother's wings looked almost too big around his body. They flared wide against the wall from where he was forced to his knees, small hands sewn together in a mockery of prayer in front of a cross. 

 

Cas closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Just the sight of another angel dead because of him makes him bow under guilt and mortification. Dean is his charge; his charge is murdering demons, humans, and angels. Cas can't help but feel partially responsible. 

 

Even without a note, Cas would have understood what Dean had done. But to rub it in, Dean had left him a little note, saying:  **Cas, she wanted you back in heaven. Couldn't have that, could I? Keep searching, sweetheart.**

 

His brother might have needed him, and Cas’ wasn't there to help. All he'd gotten for associating with Cas was death. The teasing nature of the note, as well as the almost fond pet name, had left Cas falling apart. Sam had to hug him tightly and march him from the scene, making the note disappear. 

 

Things only got worse after that. 

 

The following murder had sent both Cas and Sam into a shock. Two brothers in their car, necks snapped, and their vehicle in a circle of salt. There was no note; the murder was explanation enough. That time, Cas had to escort Sam away from the scene. 

 

_ 'I just keep seeing our faces, Cas, mine and his _ ’ _ ,  _ Sam had repeated. The words had broken from his mouth, cracking and barely settling in the air before being replaced in a loop. Cas had shoved Sam's head down, forced him to breathe, and rubbed soothing circles into his back. It was all for naught; Cas had barely been hanging on himself. Even now, the picture leaves Cas with the sense of utter wrongness, a deep settling of something truly horrific. 

 

Cas snatches his eyes from where he'd taken to looking at the picture, his chest clenching. His gaze falls to the last picture, the newest addition to their neat line-up. 

 

Two men and one woman. They were human and their blood was spread out around them in the shape of wings. Their faces were formed into awe, as if they were being saved. Cas stares at the devotion in their eyes, even so bright in a mere picture, and he swallows thickly. 

 

It is Dean trying to comfort him in some sick, twisted way. Almost like a gift. Cas hates it. He hates that they were human, hates that their deaths were so thought out, hates that it was  _ for him,  _ and most of all, he hates that it comforts him despite all those things, just as Dean wanted. 

 

Cas swallows thickly, his throat clicking, and he thinks he hates himself as well. 

 

“We can't add anything else,” Sam speaks up, yanking him from his thoughts. 

 

“We can't control that,” Cas replies. Control  _ him,  _ he doesn't clarify. 

 

“Let's just look at the facts,” Sam suggests, his lips thinning out as his eyes jump from each picture. “So far, he doesn't appear to have a serious purpose behind his murders. They're for us, obviously, but we don't know  _ why  _ he's doing this. The newest murder is for you, right? You said… well, you said—”

 

“It has becomes apparent that Dean is trying to… reassure me,” Cas cuts him off sharply. 

 

“Just reassure?” Sam murmurs, a glimmer of challenge in his eyes. 

 

Right, facts. 

 

“It's seduction,” Cas corrects. 

 

Sam nods slowly. “Four and half months almost. Eleven victims. Five were human, six were not. We only directly knew Crowley.” 

 

“And here we are, another addition to the list, with no leads,” Cas mutters bitterly. 

 

Sam leans back in his chair, turning his blank gaze to the long forgotten coffee in front of him. Cas stares at him. He looks thinner, his face growing gaunt and sharp. He looks sick almost, and Cas thinks he should do a better job of keeping Sam safe. 

 

“What are we missing?” Sam wonders, lips twitching over unsaid words, almost seeming to pray. He might be for all Cas knows. 

 

“Nothing,” Cas admits. “There  _ is  _ nothing, Sam. He's not doing this for no other purpose than to watch us scramble. He has no rhyme or reason. He may enjoy killing, yes, but ultimately… this is all for us.” 

 

“I think I hate him,” Sam croaks out, turning vacant eyes to Cas. 

 

“No, you don't,” Cas replies apologetically. 

 

And it's so pitiful because it's true. They want to hate him as he is, and they probably should, but they can't find it within themselves to. 

 

“Can we save him?” Sam asks. 

 

“I pray that we can,” Cas answers. 

 

“And when have we ever known prayers to get answered?” Sam's responds, sounding full to the brim with dread. 

 

Cas releases a short sigh, hating the flimsy lie he wants to give, and just answers with the barest honesty he knows. “Never.” 

 

The word sits between them, harsh and heavy. Cas wants to fling it away, wants to pick it up and wave it around like a white flag. The truth is supposed to be clarity, but it only sends them spiralling into further uncertainty. 

 

They don't know much about what's happening, or why, or what will happen. It's all confusing, every second going unanswered feeling like another pound of flesh they have to give. 

 

But one thing is for sure… Dean is the only one who's having any fun. 


	4. Chapter 4

It's in the early corners of the morning that Cas finds something. He's sitting at the table in the war room, staring at the map he and Sam had laid out. He gazes at the pins they've placed to mark where each murder has happened. 

 

It takes him two hours to see it. 

 

One thing that’s consistent about Dean, no matter the form, is he's an asshole. Staring at the pins, he realizes looking at each one as a victim rather than a pin in the map was their mistake. 

 

“Sam!” Cas calls out, standing swiftly from the table and bracing his hands against the top. His eyes are wide, and he feels a wild fluttering kickstart in his chest. 

 

“Cas?” Sam yells frantically, practically skidding into the room. His hair is mussed, eyes half open, gun pointed too high in the air. 

 

“It's not just random,” Cas explains, waving him over. “Come look at the pins.” 

 

Sam puts away his gun, yawning around the awareness that there is no danger, and shuffles over to the table. He stares at the pins, eyebrows furrowed, and gives a shrug when Cas gestures at them. A sharp, annoyed growl rips from Cas’ lips, and he raises a finger to trace the distance between the pins, like playing connect-the-dots. 

 

Sam blinks, comes alive. “Is that a—?” 

 

“Yes,” Cas confirms, nodding. 

 

“But it's not finished,” Sam mutters. 

 

“Sam,” Cas hisses, staring at him, just waiting for him to finally catch up.  _ Humans.  _

 

“Oh,  _ oh...  _ oh my god,” Sam breathes, eyes widening as he shuffles back a step. 

 

“Yes,” Cas hums, the harsh smack of reality hitting him full force, “we know where he's going. We can go there, Sam. We can  _ stop  _ him.” 

 

_ We can save him.  _

 

“But why this?” Sam asks, shoves a hand at the seemingly scattered pins. 

 

Cas frowns. “Perhaps… he's being funny.” 

 

Sam shoots him an arch look, crinkles forming around his mouth. Right, nothing is ever just for giggles in their lives. “Maybe he's sending a message. Maybe a part of him  _ wants— _ ” 

 

“Sam,” Cas cuts him off tersely. Sam's lips tuck in and disappear for a moment, properly chastised. 

 

“I thought we were supposed to hope,” Sam whispers, crestfallen and shattered. His eyes shine like a puppy who's been struck without any idea as to why. 

 

Cas sighs. “We can't make assumptions, Sam. If we go there with hope, we may miss an opportunity to bring Dean home.” 

 

That seems to settle Sam, seems to get him back on track. “We need to leave,  _ now. _ ” 

 

Cas just nods. Sam immediately stalks off to his room to pack what he needs, and Cas focuses his gaze back to the pins. They look as if the were just placed at random, but from a higher view, it starts to form something. 

 

Cas refuses to get excited about Dean killing people in specific places to create the shape of a devil's trap, but it takes valiant effort. 

 

The notions his mind dredges up are obvious and highly unlikely, but Cas’ heart hopes despite that. Dean has to know they will figure it out; he knows how capable they are. And he most likely wants them to know, to come and find him. 

 

But why? 

 

It's not a cry for help, no matter how much Cas wishes it to be. Dean's not asking to be caught, not after all he's done. No, he's trying to catch  _ them.  _ It's all just a game to him, just something he can use to haunt their dreams. He may not be here, but he's staying very present in their lives. Cas has never felt so far away from him before. 

 

They may very well be walking into a trap. It's entirely plausible that Dean is going to hunt them, just as they've been hunting him—or trying to. There is likely to be pain, possibly even death. Yet, Cas grips the edge of the table and yearns to see Dean once again, even as he is. 

 

“Cas!” Sam calls out, hauling himself up the stairs leading to the exit. 

 

He doesn't hesitate, just follows Sam out to the Impala. There is a layer of excitement and tension between them as they tear off down the road, joining them in the front seat and forcing silence. They don't talk for a majority of their ride, switching out when Sam grew tired with only looks as communication. 

 

As Cas pushes Baby down the road, he considers his relationship with Sam. 

 

He and Sam have had a turbulent journey into their friendship, hitting bumps and snags along the way, but they've always considered each other family. Cas has always known that, even if he never acknowledged it. However, Cas usually spent most of his time wrapped up with Dean rather than Sam. 

 

It wasn't that he didn't consider Sam his friend or family, but he and Dean always had a different type of bond. That's not to say he wouldn't have just as quickly killed for Sam as he would Dean. The Winchesters,  _ plural,  _ were always important to him. There was nothing he would put before either of them, seperate or together, and he'd proven that. 

 

Now, things between them are different. 

 

Losing Dean to his demonic state has strengthened their bond even more. Sam has quickly become the only person Cas can depend on. They spend a lot of time together, a sense of comradery draping over them at all times. They're in this together until the end. 

 

They get each other now, in a way they hadn't before. Close quarters and endless discussions were just steps into learning each other that had to be taken. Cas knows things about Sam that Dean possibly doesn't, and the same could be said vice versa. 

 

Cas feels like it is his responsibility to care for Sam with Dean gone. Funnily enough, Sam feels the same about Cas. It's grating for both of them, but they have stubbornness in common. 

 

More often than not, Cas finds himself distracting Sam from his own guilt and grief. They talk of his days in college, how he'd met Jess, how he'd hated the dorms, how he wasn't sure why he chose law to begin with. Cas learned that Sam has a deep want for a pet, rooted in the need to care for something rather than destroy it. He quickly realized that they shared hating themselves for their screw-ups as well. 

 

And though the little talks and curious explorations of each other's pasts was an important step into making their friendship stronger, it was the heavier moments that truly brought them together. Broken down and lost, they often found themselves straying into vulnerable territory around one another. 

 

Many times, Sam would scream in his sleep and Cas would wake him as a gesture of kindness. Sam was different than Dean in the way he'd sit up and talk about it. He'd explain the twisted images in his nightmares, splay out his fears, and even look to Cas for his feelings in hopes of solidarity. Cas doesn't think he's ever talked so much about the things in his head before. 

 

Cas knows once everything stops, no matter what the dust reveals as it settles, he and Sam will always be closer than before. 

 

Letting his thoughts drift, Cas continues to drive. 

 

It's not much longer before Sam wakes up with a small jolt, his head snapping up in immediate alertness. He'd probably only achieved a little over five hours of sleep, and Cas flicks a worried gaze over to him. Pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Sam releases a groan as he stretches his legs out as much as the space allows him. 

 

“How far out are we?” Sam asks, his voice splintering around a yawn. 

 

“Twenty miles out,” Cas answers. 

 

“What's the time?” 

 

“It's midnight.” 

 

“Shit,” Sam curses sharply, frowning as he shifts in the seat to look at Cas. “I'm sorry, man. I slept too long. Why didn't you wake me?” 

 

“You needed your rest,” Cas hums, squinting out the window. 

 

Sam huffs. “So do you.” 

 

“Inaccurate,” he replies, swift and knowing. “I'm an angel, and I don't sleep.” 

 

“Fair,” Sam allows and shuts up. 

 

They ride for a few more minutes before a thought strikes Cas. Warily, he glances at Sam and mutters, “How will we find him?” 

 

“Knowing Dean, he's—” Sam stops short. 

 

Of course, they don't know anything about Dean, not anymore, not like  _ this.  _

 

“We'll find him,” Cas changes tactics, “then what?” 

 

Sam stays silent. 

 

Great, no plan. To be fair, he hasn't been thinking about a plan either. He's more focused on seeing Dean again, aching to gaze upon him just one more time. It's always just one more time, isn't it? Sighing, Cas tightens his grip on the steering wheel and firmly keeps his gaze from Sam. 

 

“He has to be contained,” Cas says, pauses, and after a moment, elaborates, “no matter what.”

 

Sam grits his teeth. “I know that.” 

 

“Can you do it?” 

 

“It doesn't have to be violent, Cas. Jesus, why can't we just—” 

 

“What?” Cas challenges harshly. “Why can't we just politely ask him to come with us? Why can't we grab him and gently bring him home? Oh, I don't know, maybe because he doesn't  _ want to!” _

 

“Don't be an asshole, okay? I know what we're looking at here,” Sam mutters, reaching over to pinch Cas on his arm. It doesn't hurt, but the point he makes with the gesture is understood. 

 

Cas relaxes slightly and repeats, “Can you do it?”

 

“Can you?” 

 

Cas bites back his original, snap-decision answer, clenching his jaw. He wants to say he can, that he won't hesitate to rid the world of an evil. But it's  _ Dean.  _ He's not sure what he will do, and he feels guilty for pushing Sam. 

 

“We'll figure it out when we get there,” Cas replies blandly. 

 

“I'm not killing him.” 

 

The words make Cas jolt. The GPS has Cas make a left, and he uses the moment to gather himself. Of course, they weren't killing Dean; they  _ couldn't.  _ Contain was the word he'd used and that is exactly what he meant. They have to get Dean, bring him home, and cure him. Killing Dean is not an option, never will be. 

 

Cas feels guilt and dismay slice him up as he realizes that he'd let the world fall apart before he takes Dean from it. He wonders if that makes him just as bad as Dean. 

 

“I won't either,” he confirms. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas sees Sam relax minutely. He feels guilty for that too. 

 

“I wonder where he is,” Sam murmurs as they pull into the motel on the outskirts of the town. 

 

“It's a fairly small town,” Cas hums, finally allowing Baby to rest. “I'm sure we can eliminate the possibilities fairly quickly. Let's talk to the hotel receptionist about the bars.” 

 

Sam nods as he gets out of Baby, shuffling towards the trunk. Cas helps him carry their duffles into the lobby, waiting as the woman at the front desk deals with another customer. It's not long before he and Sam walk to the front and the woman smiles widely at them. 

 

“How are you doing tonight?” she greets, looking genuinely delighted to have them there. 

 

“Tired,” Sam admits, plastering on a gentle grin as he leans forward, “and to be honest with you, I could use a drink or two to relax. What kind of bars do y'all have around town?” 

 

“Well, I don't do much drinking myself, but we have two bars pretty close to here. I wouldn't know how good they are, so be wary,” she informs them. Her eyes light up and she leans close to Sam, murmuring softly as if telling a secret, “However, there  _ is  _ a very nice club downtown. I hear it can get pretty raunchy sometimes, if you catch my drift. If you're looking for some fun and maybe some trouble, I'd head there. Does that, uh, help?” 

 

Sam's shoulders sag. “Yeah, that's perfect. Thank you.” 

 

“No problem!” she chirps, smile still firmly in place. “Now, double or single?” 

 

“Double,” Sam answers. 

 

“Okie dokie,” she hums, leaning down and passing over a keycard. “Enjoy your stay! There's a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the table by the beds if you don't want housekeeping to bug you in the morning.” 

 

Sam grabs the keycard. “Thanks.” 

 

As they head towards their room, Cas murmurs in quiet amusement, “She was helpful.” 

 

“Shut up, Cas,” Sam snorts, making quick work of the door and leading them into their room. 

 

“I'm just saying,” Cas says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he settles on the bed closest to the door. He keeps his gaze firmly to the floor as he adds, “Maybe, you should take some time for yourself, Sam. I would be fine with spending time away from the room if you wanted to—” 

 

“Cas,” Sam bursts out, eyes wide and oh so scandalized, “please don't finish that sentence. Look, I understand you are trying to take care of me like Dean would, but sex is not a cure-all. Besides, she doesn't automatically want to have sex with me because she was kind, despite what Dean would have you believe. That's literally her job, so  _ please  _ don't ever try to, uh, you know, do that again. Okay?” 

 

Cas frowns. “I know she doesn't want to have sex just because she was nice, but you're handsome and kind as well. Maybe you could—” 

 

“Cas!” Sam shouts, flinging his hands out as his mouth dropped open. 

 

“What?” Cas snaps, refusing to feel guilty for caring. “I just think it's been a very long time since you partook in human activity. Your life cannot be just hunting and trying to save the world. You need normalcy.” 

 

“I understand what you're saying, I  _ really  _ do, and thank you, but my life  _ is  _ hunting and saving the world,” Sam sighs, smiling weakly. “And, just so you know, I've never been normal in my life.” 

 

“I would feel better if you were to take some time for yourself soon to do something nice, whether that be sex or anything else,” Cas insists, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. 

 

“Okay,” Sam says gently, his face softening as he smiles. “How about this? We get Dean, and  _ then _ I'll do something to relax.” 

 

Cas opens his mouth, snaps it shut, and purses his lips. Sam arches an eyebrow, waiting for him to find the right answer. Cas knows when he's lost, so he just looks away. 

 

“As for getting Dean, I've got an idea where to start,” Sam tells him, drawing Cas’ gaze back. He starts digging through his duffle. “That club the woman mentioned; that's where he'll be if he's out tonight. Change your clothes. Put on those I made you pack.” 

 

Cas wrinkles his nose. “I don't like those jeans. They're very tight.” 

 

“Kinda the point, Cas,” Sam chuckles, heading off to the bathroom. 

 

Cas grimaces, but he does as Sam says. Digging out the tight blue jeans and black Henley Sam made him bring, Cas waits his turn. Sam returns from the bathroom, wearing about the same. He wears plaid though, and Cas thinks he hasn't earned that right just yet. 

 

Cas feels strange in the new clothes, hating how tight they are. The suit he always wears is loose and allows room to fight if need be, but these…  _ monstrosities  _ were for one purpose, which was to make the wearer look enticing. Cas doesn't  _ want  _ to look enticing, but Sam insists. 

 

Sam gives him a once over. “Fix your hair.” 

 

“How?” Cas huffs. 

 

“I dunno, make it messy or something. You look weird with it neat,” Sam mutters, waving a hand at him distractedly. 

 

“Fine,” Cas grits out, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, ruffling it. Sam looks at him again, narrowing his eyes. 

 

“It'll do,” Sam allows. “Come on, let's go. Remember, we have to blend in. So order drinks, but don't drink them. Dance if you have to, but don't go to the middle of the crowd. Mingle, but don't tell anyone your name. And Cas,” he pauses, turning to look at him seriously, “if you see Dean… just don't do anything stupid.” 

 

Cas is offended, despite understanding what Sam means. Still, he replies in a harsh tone, “Same to you, Sam.” 

 

Sam shoots him a warning look and yanks the door open, heading out to Baby. Cas takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and follows him out. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I don't wanna be biased, but this is my absolute favorite chapter. Why? Because this has the most beautiful piece of art I've ever seen, by the one and only: Anyrei. She's absolutely amazing, and I'm oozing love and joy because of it!!! 
> 
> Outside of that, there aren't any serious warnings for this chap. So, my friends, enjoy, and shower Anyrei with all the love in the comments! 
> 
> Enjoy, and I'll see yall on Saturday ;)

It doesn't take long to find the club. It's smack in the middle of the town, and it's lit up from the outside with green and purple lights. The music thumps as they walk up the block they had to park Baby from the club. It's an easy admission, ten dollars each, a flashing of fake IDs, and they're in. 

 

The music grows louder as they walk towards the center of the club. As they pass the threshold, Sam nods at him before splitting off to the right, heading towards the bar. He's better at talking to people, so Cas lets him leave and heads to the left towards the dance floor. 

 

There's an energy surrounding the people dancing, something pulsing and strong. Cas can easily smell the sweat and heat coming from the bodies, and as he circles the crowd, he watches them. Women and men in all states of dress writhe around each other, heads tossed back, hips swaying, hands curling into the air. They look as if they've all collectively taken a drug, eyes vacant and entranced. 

 

Cas scans the faces, eyebrows crinkled together, and steps closer to look farther into the crowd. It's honestly amazing how many bodies are jammed in the space, and he can barely see where one person ends and another begins.  

 

A song plays over the speakers, pushing  _ ‘I want to do bad things with you’  _ through the air like a sultry promise. Cas feels it curl around his bones, vibrating into his nerves, and before he knows what he doing, he's swaying to the music. The crowd parts around him, he can't breathe properly, and he looks up as the strobe lights pass over the ceiling. 

 

Hands press into him from all sides, touching and pushing him forward. He's heading straight for the middle of the crowd and something tells him it's a very bad idea. Sam had told him specifically not to do this, but he feels powerless to the tantalizing music. A body presses into his, curving hips circling into his palms, and he doesn't remember reaching down to grab a random woman's waist. 

 

Something is wrong. Terribly, horribly,  _ wrong.  _

 

Cas’ eyes snap open—when had he closed them?—and he looks straight ahead. Empty black eyes peer at him as the strobe lights pass through the crowd, and Cas drops his hands from the woman, hastily stepping back. It's no offense to her, and she just dances her way to the woman beside him, their eyes never opening as their lips meet between their rocking bodies. 

 

Dean grins sharply. 

 

He's…  _ bewitching  _ them somehow. Cas stands stock still, never taking his eyes from Dean. Hands are wrapped around Dean's arms, crawling over his chest, nails digging into his shirt. Women and men gather around him, hanging off his body and writhing against him erotically. They look in bliss, as if merely touching him gives them the best high they've ever had. 

Abruptly, the hands fall away, and Dean starts walking forward. His eyes glint with each passing of the bright strobe light, and Cas’ breath catches. The sight is truly mesmerizing. Hands and hips sway as he passes, bodies parting from his path like a well-oiled machine. They're Dean's, every last one of them, and it's very likely they don't even know it. 

 

Cas starts to back away, but it's too late. 

 

“Cas,” Dean greets, pressing right into his space, hands falling to Cas’ hips and drawing their bodies close together. His eyes flick to green, the sudden change making Cas feel unfounded relief. 

 

“Dean,” Cas replies, his voice measured and low. The music is loud, but he knows Dean can hear him. Dean smiles gently, looking soft, looking kind, looking as he always used to. 

 

“Care to dance?” Dean asks, though he doesn't give Cas much of a choice. He rocks their bodies back and forth, running his hands along Cas’ sides, pausing at his hips. 

 

Cas swallows, his throat clicking, and turns his eyes towards the rest of the club. He looks for Sam, searching for long hair and a head higher than the rest. Before he can locate Sam, fingers grip his chin and force him to look back at Dean. 

 

“Don't ignore me,” Dean orders, dragging a thumb over Cas’ bottom lip before dropping his hand. “You came to see me, didn't you? Took you long enough to find me, sweetheart.” 

 

“You wanted to be found,” Cas states, balling his hands into fists by his side. He refuses to touch Dean, refuses to give into the urge. “Why?” 

 

“Why else?” Dean laughs, eyes bright, smile teasing. “I wanted to see you, of course.” 

 

“Dean, you have to—” 

 

“Hush, now,” Dean whispers, cutting him off and lifting a hand from Cas’ hip to wave it between them, “none of that. Just be here with me, yeah?” 

 

Cas feels his mouth close, his head slowly nod, and his eyes close as Dean draws him in. Cas gives in, reaches up to run his hands up Dean's arms, gripping his shoulders. Dean hooks his jaw on Cas’ shoulder, and he rocks their bodies together to the beat. 

 

The song croons, 

 

_ ‘I'm the kind to sit up in his room,  _

_ Heart sick an' eyes filled up with blue, _ _  
_ _ I don't know what you've done to me _

_ But I know this much is true… _

_ I wanna do bad things with you’ _

 

For a moment, Cas pretends that nothing is real. Dean's not destructive, he needs no cure. They're just in a random club, and they're dancing. He lets the music pour through him, lets it press into the crevices around his heart, lets it fill him and guide him into Dean's embrace. People press into them, suffocating Cas in the loveliest way, and  _ nothing is real.  _

 

The song continues, weaving through the air like pure seduction, 

 

_ ‘When you came in the air went out _ __  
_ And all those shadows there filled up with doubt _ __  
_ I don't know who you think you are _ __  
_ But before the night is through _ __  
_ I wanna do bad things with you _ _  
_ __ I wanna do real bad things with you’

 

Lips curl against his neck, smiling against his pulse as he loses himself to the moment. Cas tilts his head back, exhaling softly, eyes fluttering against the sudden urge to never open them again. It's enchanting, torturous,  _ disastrous.  _

 

Cas fights, eyes flying open as he goes cold. Stiffening, Cas jerks back, settling Dean at arms length. Dean peers at him, lips curling up in a smirk, and Cas’ sucks in a sharp breath. 

 

“No,” Cas hisses, fumbling backwards, trying to sink away from the bodies surrounding him. 

 

“You didn't like my gift?” Dean mocks, eyebrows raising playfully. His lips pucker into a perfect pout as he taunts, “What, sweetheart? What is it? You don't like  _ me? _ ” 

 

The bodies tighten around him, shoving him forward, forcing him closer to Dean. “Please,” Cas pleads, “please just stop.” 

 

“Where's the fun in that?” Dean hums, eyes suddenly flicking to black. 

 

Cas freezes, his chest tightening at the sight. Black eyes like a bottomless, fathomless abyss stare at him, settling between Dean's eyelids like it made sense. But it didn't, it doesn't. Fingers hook into his belt loops and drag him closer. 

 

“Let us help you,” Cas hisses, digging his nails into Dean's arms. 

 

“I don't need help,” Dean snaps, leaning back to glare at Cas with sharp, black eyes, “but you do. Let me help you, Cas.” 

 

“How could  _ you  _ possibly help me?” Cas asks bitterly, feeling his hips sway in tune with Dean's. 

 

“Come with me,” Dean suggests nonchalantly, dipping his head slightly. “I'll show you the world, Cas. Everything will make sense with me, I promise. I'll show you what true humanity is. No backwoods towns, no ghosts, no bullshit.” 

 

“Just demons,” Cas counters sharply. 

 

Dean grins. “Just the one.” 

 

“Why?” Cas demands, searching Dean's eyes for some answers. His shadowy gaze reveals nothing, only an empty pit. “ _ Why?  _ Why me?” 

 

“I may be a demon, but I'm still me, still just regular ol’ Dean. You were important to me then, and you're important to me now,” Dean tells him, eyes suddenly green and soft again. “Though, I have to admit… corrupting an angel sounds fun.” 

 

“You will  _ not  _ corrupt me,” Cas growls, leaning away from Dean's hands. 

 

“Well, what do you call it? Would you prefer blasphemy?” Dean asks, one eyebrow arching, obviously fighting a smile. 

 

“I will not—  _ we  _ will not…” Cas trails off, glaring at Dean to get his point across. 

 

Dean looks doubtful. “Who are you trying to convince, sweetheart?” 

 

“Stop calling me that!” Cas shouts, anger boiling over and exploding from the deepest dredges of his body. Dean's eyes brighten immediately, and  _ shit.  _ He groans, “Just stop all of it.” 

 

“Don't lie to me, Cas. I know you've thought about it, I know you  _ want  _ me. It's okay, it's perfect. Isn't this perfect? I'm going to live forever, just like you. We can—” 

 

“No.” 

 

Dean blinks. “Excuse me?” 

 

“This is not perfect,” Cas clarifies tightly, his jaw clenching. “Perfection is if you were home; happy, healthy, and  _ human…  _ but you're not.” 

 

“Three out of four is better than none, isn't it? I'm happy, I'm healthy, and I'm  _ home.  _ The world is my oyster, Cas,” Dean tells him, arms spreading wide around him. “I can do whatever I want, and so can you. Just come with me.” 

 

“There is one flaw in your ready explanation of  _ why  _ you want me,” Cas mutters. 

 

“Oh?” Dean asks doubtfully. 

 

“Sam,” Cas says, staring at Dean in an obvious challenge. “If you were really you, he would matter. You'd want him by your side as well. You'd want to be cured, to go home, to take care of your brother.” 

 

Dean rolls his eyes, waves a hand. “Pesky. Sam will be dead in the next sixty years. Why waste my time? Besides, he's so full of…  _ hope. _ ” 

 

“He's family!” Cas snaps, anger welling up in his chest. “We can't— _ you  _ can't forget that.” 

 

“He's my brother, yes, and I care for him, I truly do. That's why he's not dead,” Dean explains, shrugging shamelessly. “He can live his human life out, he can be happy, and he can have everything I ever tried to keep him from. Don't you get it, Cas? It's better this way.” 

 

Cas gives a short, derisive laugh. “Even as a demon, you hate yourself.” 

 

“Sure,” Dean agrees, still shameless, “but there are perks. I don't  _ care.  _ Best of all, there's nothing holding me back from what I want. Then, and even now, I want you.” 

 

“No,” Cas breathes, his voice on the edge of begging, “no, you don't.” 

 

“Would I go through all this trouble for anyone else?” Dean tuts, eyebrows jerking up. 

 

“This is all just fun and games to you,” Cas whispers, his breath coming out in short, panicky bursts. “You don't want me, you can't. I'm an angel, and you're- you… You  _ can't,  _ we can't, I can't. I won't.” 

 

“I'll prove it to you,” Dean promises, lips curling in a gentle smile. 

 

“Dean—”

 

Dean lifts his hand, fingers waggling as he waves tauntingly. With a wink, Dean turns around and leaves. The crowd parts around him, bodies immediately coming back together after he passes. Cas’ heart catches in his throat and he throws himself forward. 

 

“Dean! DEAN!” Cas screams, shoving at the limbs holding him back. “Don't kill anyone, don't you dare! DEAN! Please don't.  _ Please! _ ” 

 

But Dean's gone. 


	6. Chapter 6

“I  _ told  _ you not to do anything stupid.” 

 

Cas doesn't reply, just looks out the window. Sam is done yelling at him. His voice is weak and lost, just short of giving out. Cas wants to apologize, but his mouth refuses to open. He feels the ghost of Dean's fingers gripping his hips, tugging and guiding and—

 

“We lost him,” Sam croaks, “again.” 

 

That snatches Cas’ attention. “You didn't,  _ I  _ did.” 

 

“I never even found him,” Sam mutters bitterly. 

 

Cas sighs and looks out the window as Sam silently fumes beside him. They pull into the motel parking lot with a sharp turn, and Cas knows Sam is angry with him again. 

 

They sit in silence long after Baby is shut off. Sam waits, stares at the side of Cas’ face. But Cas has his eyes closed, drifting off to the phantom feeling of Dean's hands on his skin. The feeling had been immaculate. 

 

The angel Cas used to be thrashes within him, urging him to lose all connection to such a conniving creature, much like it had done with Meg. Yet, the softest part of him, the part that Dean had a hand in creating,  _ that  _ part of him begged him to remember, to stop caring, to give in. Conflicted, Cas let his head sag against the window with a dull  _ tap.  _

 

“Cas?” Sam whispers, sounding worried now. 

 

Cas elects to ignore him. 

 

They sit there in silence, just existing in one another's presence. Sam doesn't get out of the car, just settles against the driver's side door as if to nap. Cas keeps his eyes closed, and he can pretend he is just dreaming. 

 

Cas hears Dean whisper in his ear, faint pleas to join him. He feels Dean touch him, skittering fingers trailing over skin. He sees Dean behind his eyelids, eyes green and soft. Suddenly, the green wilts to black, and Cas’ eyes snap open. 

 

It is no dream; it's a nightmare. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The call blares into the silence of Baby, making Sam jolt awake. Cas merely glances at him, watches as he fumbles with his phone. Sam mutters a gruff  _ ‘hello’  _ and sags back against the seat, yawning. 

 

Suddenly, Sam sits up straight, snatching his phone and quickly putting it on speaker. 

 

“—if you get what I'm saying,” Dean's voice says, light and casual. 

 

Cas blinks, swallowing. 

 

“What do you want?” Sam barks, shooting a glance of concern at Cas in the dim light. 

 

“Well, that's no way to say hello,” Dean huffs, lightly scolding Sam, “but I did call for a reason. So I was hunting and I met this  _ incredible— _ ” 

 

“Hunting?” Sam hisses, eyes widening. “Hunting  _ what  _ exactly?” 

 

“Oh, come on, Sammy,” Dean replied softly, sounding for all the world as if there is no reason to doubt him these days, “I'm still me, okay?  I was on a regular hunt, and—” 

 

“Why?” Sam challenges suspiciously. 

 

Dean groans. “Fucking shut up for once in your life, would you?  _ Damn.  _ I was hunting because Jody called and asked for help, and I was—” 

 

“Jody!?” Sam shouts, his free hand coming up to clench the steering wheel. “Why did you—what did you fucking do?” 

 

“I… helped her?” Dean murmurs, confused. 

 

Sam glances at Cas. “Call Jody,  _ now. _ ” 

 

Cas goes to do as Sam asked when Dean heaves a deep breath, cutting him off. 

 

“Chill out,” he says, “Jody is fine. In fact, I don't think she even knows how I'm doing. What's up with that, Sam? You ashamed of me?” 

 

Sam chooses then to shut up. 

 

Dean's hum crackles on the other line, and he lightly continues, “Any-fucking-way, as I was _saying,_ there was a hunt. I was just wrapping it up when I met this amazing girl!” 

 

Cas feels his chest tighten, his stomach swooping as he reacts to Dean's excitement. He feels his fists clench, feels the white-hot flash of jealousy slash through him. It is unfounded, completely irrational, but Cas thinks he is going to be sick. He shouldn't even be able to get sick, and along with anger, jealousy, and hurt, panic grips him in a rush. 

 

As he fumbles with the handle to escape Baby, Dean continues, “Sam, you'll  _ love  _ her!” 

 

Cas goes still, jerking his head over to watch Sam gape at nothing, his mouth opening and closing in confusion. 

 

Finally, he manages, “Me? Are you—what?” 

 

“We'll, she's not for  _ me,  _ dipshit. I'm currently working on my relationship. Speaking of, how is Cas? Did he handle that little moment too well?” 

 

That fucking  _ asshole.  _

 

Sam glances at Cas, eyes calculating as they sweep over him. Cas swallows, forces himself to relax and drop the handle. But it's far too late. Sam's eyebrows crumble together, and he looks away, clearing his throat. 

 

“He's fine,” Sam snaps. 

 

Dean laughs softly. “I'm sure he is. Be careful there, Sammy. You shouldn't hang out with someone if you don't know what side they're on.” 

 

“Fuck you!” Cas yells, whirling around in the seat faster than he even knew he was capable of. He snatches the phone, rage blistering him from the inside and spitting out through his mouth. “I'll never be on your side, I'll never want you, I'll  _ never— _ ” 

 

Sam claps his hand over Cas’ mouth, meeting his biting gaze with wide eyes. Slowly, Sam peels the phone from Cas’ hand, leaving his other hand over Cas’ mouth. He looks shocked, worried, and Cas forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He relaxes gradually, keeping Sam's gaze to stay calm. After a warning look, Sam drops the hand from Cas’ mouth and clears his throat. 

 

“Thanks for the advice,” Sam mutters, shaking his head at Cas, “but I think I'm good.” 

 

Patient as ever, Dean says, “Sure.” 

 

“Now, why did you call me? Some girl? What did you do to her?” Sam asks. 

 

“Not just some girl, Sam… she's  _ perfect.  _ Dude, I think she's the one for you, for real. And I have her here with me, but she's fine. Mostly,” Dean tells him conversationally. 

 

“Don't hurt her,” Sam warns immediately, tensing up automatically. “Just—Dean, let her go.” 

 

“Why would I do that? She's for you, duh,” Dean snorts. “And I'm not gonna hurt her,  _ much. _ We're gonna be family one day, Sammy, I can feel it!” 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Sam croaks. 

 

“Sam, you're not gonna believe me, but I want you to be happy. I really do. You deserve a good woman, some kids, a nice life,” Dean answers softly. “Finally, I'm outta your way. I'm trying to help us get everything we want. You get this girl, a family, and I get Cas.” 

 

Cas breathes slowly, closing his eyes. 

 

“Dean,” Sam says weakly, “this isn't you, man. You say it is, but it's  _ not.  _ You would have never—”

 

Dean cuts him off excitedly. “Exactly! I used to be such a selfish creature, but not anymore. I used to want you to be happy, you can't deny that. I'm still me, but I've evolved.  _ Now,  _ I want you to be happy how you want to be! Tell me that's not what you used to want? It's a little late, but I'm supporting you now, Sam.” 

 

“And what about Cas!?” Sam blurts out defensively, pointedly avoiding Cas’ sharp look. “You don't think it's selfish to force Cas into something with you?” 

 

“Oh, Sam,” Dean laughs gently, his voice the perfect pitch of pity, “you don't get it. When it's all said and done, I won't have to  _ force  _ Cas to come with me. He's going to want to.” 

 

Cas sucks in a sharp breath, eyes going wide. Pure, unadulterated fear courses through him at Dean's sure tone. Sam looks at him then, eyes wide and worried. Cas quickly averts his eyes, shame pouring through him. Truth is, Cas isn't sure Dean's wrong. 

 

“You need to leave him alone,” Sam threatens darkly. “Stop fucking with him, stop killing people, stop everything! Let that girl go and just come  _ home.  _ You can work on your… relationship with Cas when your back to normal.” 

 

“How about… no?” Dean taunts, laughing viciously. “How about this? Eileen stays with me, you leave  _ me  _ the hell alone to live your very well-deserved easy life, and I work on my relationship with Cas now. Sound good?” 

 

Sam's jaw clenches. “Dean—” 

 

“No, you listen to me, and you listen real fucking good,” Dean growls, voice curling through the phone roughly, permeating the space of Baby with something harsh and commanding, “this isn't up for discussion. This is our lives now. I will get what I want, and if I don't, I always have a back-up plan. And Sam, you don't want to know what the back-up plan is. You  _ will  _ be happy, and Cas will be by my side.” 

 

“I think you forgot one thing, Dean,” Sam taunts, face twisting into a threat, a sure promise darkening his face. “In the face of fucking  _ evil,  _ we don't lose. So take your back-up plan and shove it up your ass!” 

 

Dean's next words are haunting, slithering into the space between them. It sits in the front seat with them, a steady placeholder for Dean's spot in their lives. It's a shell of the real Dean, of the one they crave, but it's far more sinister. It feels impossible to destroy. 

 

“You just don't realize, Sam, I'm not  _ stupid.  _ I know you're wrong. Why? Because… neither one of you can  _ kill  _ me, and that's the only way I'm not winning.” 

 

The phone goes dead, but Dean's twisted presence lingers with them. 

 

For a few bleak moments, the sit in stunned silence, eyes vacant and firmly averted from one another. The silence shatters when Sam curses loudly and slams his hand against the steering wheel three times in quick succession. 

 

“Sam,” Cas whispers, halting him. 

 

“He has someone, Cas,” Sam shouts, turning wild eyes to him. “He can be torturing her right now because of  _ me.  _ And you!” 

 

“Me?” Cas snaps, immediately offended. 

 

Sam glares at him. “Yes,  _ you.  _ We're supposed to be in this together, Cas. We can't do that if you're… if you're—” 

 

“What?” Cas hisses after Sam stops, urging him to continue. Anger thrums within him, his palms itch, and Cas  _ wants  _ Sam to continue, wants a reason to lash out. “If I'm  _ what,  _ Sam?” 

 

“Cas, you can't harbor feelings for him, okay? That's not Dean,” Sam insists. 

 

“I  _ know. _ ” 

 

“Don't lie to me! I saw you, man. I saw how you looked when you thought he had met someone. I saw how you reacted when he said—” 

 

“I know, Sam!” Cas shouts, slamming a hand down on Baby's dash. 

 

“Well, you're not fucking acting like it! I know this is hard, but that's not him. You can't get caught up with him, do you hear me?” Sam lectures, grave and serious, oh so unsympathetic. “He would never do—” 

 

“I KNOW!” Cas explodes, cutting Sam off, making him shrink back. “Don't you fucking think I know he'd never want me if he was himself!?” 

 

Sam blinks, mouth parting. “Cas, I— I didn't—” 

 

“Stop,” Cas interrupts sharply. “Just… stop. It's over with. We have a mission, and you needn't worry that I'll be distracted by Dean.” 

 

“You have before,” Sam mutters bitterly. 

 

Cas glares at him. “Shut  _ up,  _ Sam. I know what I'm doing. Just… trust me, okay?” 

 

Cautiously, Sam nods and agrees, “Okay, Cas… I trust you.” 

 

Cas just nods and looks down to his lap, refusing to swallow around the lump in his throat. Relief floods into him at Sam's trust. He needs it. 

 

Cas doesn't even trust himself. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm dedicating this chapter to silverwolf51, who has commented on every chapter and been so awesome about every update. They are a good bean, and this chapter is a big thank you to them! 
> 
> ** Side note: references to murder (not heavy), and explicit sexual dreams. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!!!

_ “Just let me in,” Dean whispers, hands trailing over skin gently. “Come on, Cas, say yes.”  _

 

_ Cas pants, arching into Dean's fingers, his head thrown back, eyes closed. Dean licks a stripe up Cas’ throat, chasing his tongue with his hot breath. Goosebumps trail after Dean's exhale of laughter, making Cas shiver.  _

 

_ “Dean,” Cas moans, reaching up to curl his fingers in Dean's short hair.  _

 

_ Dean presses a kiss to his cheek, sweet and tender. “Let me love you, Cas. I know you want it. I want it too, so bad.”  _

 

_ Cas struggles to breathe as Dean reaches down between them, rubbing the thickness of his palm over Cas’ dick. Alarm threads through Cas’ body; he doesn't understand how he's capable of such desire. It surely is a sin.  _

 

_ Dean ruts against his leg lazily, his own dick solid and heavy, but his main focus is on bringing pleasure to Cas. Fingers tighten and twist, sending sparks throughout Cas’ body. Dean just breathes in his ear, sounding like what pure temptation would be if it had a form.  _

 

_ “Please,” Cas whimpers, but he's not sure what he's begging for.  _

 

_ Dean kisses him below his ear, trailing his lips over the bolt of Cas’ jaw. His hand speeds up, and Cas’ chest rises and falls quickly as he feels heat coil within him. Everything tingles, nothing is enough, and it's all too much.  _

 

_ “Look at me, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs sweetly. “Open your eyes, Cas.”  _

 

_ Obediently, Cas snaps his eyes open, just as he's on the brink, and meets Dean's gaze. Eyes black and sharp watch him, and Cas gasps at the smirk on Dean's face paired with black eyes.  _

 

_ “Come for me, Cas,” Dean whispers.  _

 

_ Staring into Dean's shadows, the bleak windows to his marred soul, Cas does.  _

 

Cas wakes with a hoarse shout, scrambling up the bed and panting. He gazes around the dark room, trying to understand what happened. He'd been in bed, thinking of what has happened, and… he fell asleep? 

 

Cas slowly traces his hand down to the front of his pants, feeling the damp spot there with growing horror. No, he did not just— 

 

He  _ did.  _

 

“Oh no,” Cas croaks, reaching up to curl his hands into his hair. “What's happening to me?” 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


“We have a problem.” 

 

Cas watches as Sam swings a weary gaze over to him, looking for the barest moment as if he'd rather be dead. They've been back at the bunker for all of one day and nothing has gotten any easier. Dean still has the woman, he's still missing, and they still hate themselves. 

 

But now… there's more to deal with. 

 

“Another one?” Sam asks bitterly, swiveling in his chair to face Cas. He holds his hands open, waits for Cas to burden him yet again. 

 

Cas feels guilty. He isn't in the business of lying, of trying to hide things, of failing to fix things on his own… not anymore. He's learned to just ask for help and keep those around him informed because it keeps him in check. He's less likely to screw things up if he's being watched. 

 

Still, Cas doesn't like the arch in Sam's shoulders, like an additional weight has just been added. He doesn't find comfort in the pinch around his mouth, the worry lining his face. Cas thinks he's at fault for that now too. 

 

“My grace,” Cas starts, stops, takes a deep breath, and tries again, “there is something  _ wrong  _ with me. With my grace.” 

 

“I thought you got your grace back?” Sam asks, eyes widening in blatant disbelief. “Did you lie?” 

 

“Yes, I obtained my grace from Metatron, and no, I didn't lie,” Cas sighs, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I fell asleep, I dreamt, I— well, something is inherently wrong.” 

 

“Does your grace feel—I don't know—sick, or something?” Sam mutters, wincing. 

 

Cas stares at him flatly. “No, Sam, my grace doesn't feel  _ sick.  _ It's… hard to explain.” 

 

“Try,” Sam insists. 

 

“Fine,” Cas grits out, crossing his arms. “My grace isn't sick, but it feels…  _ tainted?  _ It's changing. It's different now. I'm not sure how, but it doesn't feel pure anymore.” 

 

“Are you—have you…?” Sam trails off, swallows. He looks guilty at the mere suggestion, but he suggests anyway, “Cas, are you sure it's your grace changing and not… you?” 

 

The dream flickers behind his eyes, dancing images taunting him, and Cas holds his breath until his chest hurts. He's so tired of being accused, of being eyed like a potential criminal. He hasn't don't anything, doesn't plan to, won't  _ let  _ himself. Yet, at every turn, there is something pushing him towards doubt. 

 

Sam, Dean, himself. 

 

Cas releases his breath, sighs, “Forget it, Sam, I'm sure I'm just tired.” He waves a hand when Sam starts to object, distracting him quickly, asking, “Have you heard anything on Dean?” 

 

Sam's face darkens, already snatching himself away from Cas’ issue. “It seems we have another issue on top of all of this shit. I got a call from Jody this morning.” 

 

“Is she alright?” Cas asks, stomach dropping. 

 

“Oh, she's fine, but she's pissed. She found out about Dean,” Sam says, words slipping out between clenched teeth. 

 

Cas grimaces. “He told her?” 

 

“Worse,” Sam hisses, picking up the remote and turning on the TV, “he told the whole world.” 

 

The TV flashes on, already on the news, and Cas watches in horror as Dean's face stares back. The latest murder, the one for Cas, is displayed in the background. Dean's smirk is obvious, green eyes glinting, hands bloodied. He stares straight into the camera, features obvious despite the grainy picture, and Cas feels as if he's looking straight into the bunker, straight at Cas. 

 

“Oh,” Cas murmurs softly, blinking. 

 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees with an irritated sigh, “oh.” 

 

“How many calls have you gotten?” Cas asks. 

 

“Too many,” Sam snaps, quickly shutting the TV off as the news anchor started going into detail about this new serial killer. “I don't know what to tell people. I just cut my phone off.” 

 

“The FBI will be all over this,” Cas notes, reaching up to rub his temple. He has another headache, one he shouldn't have. 

 

Sam's eyes roll. “The already  _ are,  _ Cas. We've been wanted, dead, and murderers plenty of times before. Won't take long before someone recognizes him. There's only so much Jody can do to keep this under wraps.” 

 

“We're going to have a hard time hunting him down if he's being hunted by others as well, ” Cas informs Sam seriously, sighing heavily. 

 

“I know,” Sam says. “I think that's what he wants.” 

 

“We have one last hope,” Cas whispers, reaching out to tap the map on the table. “We know where he's murdering next. We can stop him.” 

 

“I don't think he's following that anymore,” Sam argues, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at the map. “If he was, he would have killed someone while we were there.” 

 

“Too risky,” Cas denies, shaking his head. “He will go back, but he's content to move on. And he has that woman with him.” 

 

“Eileen,” Sam provides helpfully, turning his laptop towards Cas. “I looked through all the databases for any Eileen in the town, recent or native, but there were only three. One deceased, one in her eighties, and one is only four years old. I think this woman was there under an alias.” 

 

“Why would she be under an—wait,” Cas halts, eyes going wide. 

 

Sam goes still, eyes widening. “What is it?” 

 

“The perfect woman for you? Sam, think about it! She's a hunter. Call around, track down Garth, look in the community, whatever you have to do. That might be able to help,” Cas explains, slowly pacing back and forth. 

 

“I thought he wanted me to be normal,” Sam grumbles, tapping away on his laptop. 

 

“Happy,” Cas corrects. “If she's a hunter, she knows the life. You won't have to hide anything.” 

 

“Jesus, he's so fucking—” Sam cuts himself off, inhaling deeply and visibly forcing himself to calm down. He redirects his attention to Cas, muttering warily, “Did you know people are pledging themselves to him?” 

 

“What?” Cas barks sharply. 

 

Sam winces, adverts his eyes. “Yeah, they're calling him the Supernatural Sadist. They've connected the other murders to him already. Y'know, the salt, sulfur, wings, halos, churches, crossroads, satanic cult leader,  _ that shit.  _ Some people think he's doing work for God, some just think he's the new Charles Manson, except, ya know, more hands on.” 

 

“You have to be joking,” Cas croaks out, mouth dangling open in shock. 

 

Sam looks up, meets his eyes in something akin to fear. “Afraid not. There are some people who believe he's worth following.” 

 

Cas hears the double meaning, hates it, understands it,  _ agrees.  _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and my friends had a thing about Dean thinking it was hot when Cas cursed, and I just.... 
> 
> I couldn't help it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Charlie calls them at the brink of dawn, horrified and  _ pissed.  _ Sam paces back and forth in his sweatpants and tries to talk to her, tries to find out why she's so upset, tries to make sense of her call. Cas listens as she berates him on the other end, words hard and loud as they filter through. 

 

Cas is ultimately surprised when Sam crosses the room and shoves the phone at him, lips pursed in anger. Hesitantly, he says, “Hello?” 

 

“Cas, what the fuck,” Charlie spits, and Cas blinks at the anger in her tone. 

 

“I… you're going to have to elaborate,” Cas replies, because he has no idea what's happening. 

 

“Fine,” Charlie hisses, the distant sound of a keyboard clicking in her background. “Can you explain why I had no idea Dean is of the  _ demon  _ variety? Also, why in the  _ hell  _ are the FBI after me? I'm apparently Dean's accomplice… to  _ murder! _ ” 

 

Cas feels his mouth part, but no words come out for a moment. Where confusion once settled, horror and shock set up shop. Slowly, Cas manages, “What?” 

 

Charlie laughs, but it's harsh and bitter. “Yeah, the FBI are currently trying to crack through my coding, and they almost got me at my apartment. Apparently, Dean gave my name as an accomplice to all his recent… adventures.” Her words go soft, a little broken and hurt. “Why didn't you tell me, Cas? Dean's like a brother to me. How could you—and Sam—keep this from me?” 

 

“Shit,” Cas says weakly, processing the new information. Across the room, Sam paces and chews distractedly on his thumbnail. 

 

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees. 

 

“I— _ we— _ didn't know this would get so out of hand. We thought we could catch him. We didn't tell anyone at all. We were sure we had it under control. I promise it's not nefarious,” Cas murmurs, swallows thickly. “It just hit the news yesterday. Dean outed himself for the murders, on purpose, for some reason we don't know. I can't even begin to imagine what he's planning with you.” 

 

Charlie clicks her tongue, still brisk but less angry overall. “Yeah, well you should have thought about that  _ before  _ the demon version of Dean decided to ruin my whole, well,  _ everything.  _ Jesus, Cas, you can't keep hiding from the people you care about.” 

 

“It's not a version, Charlie,” Cas whispers, feels his eyes close in shame. “It's him.” 

 

There's silence, then, “No. That's not—no.”

 

“Charlie, I'm so—” 

 

She cuts him off, angry again. “No, fuck that. Dean  _ wouldn't… _ that's not Dean.” 

 

“He's not possessed,” Cas says. 

 

“I don't care,” Charlie snaps, “it's  _ not  _ him.” 

 

Denial is a safe place to live, so Cas doesn't evict her. “Okay,” Cas allows, words gentle, “where are you now? We need to come and—” 

 

There's a sudden bang on the other end of the line, wood crumbling as feet pound on the floor, echoing through the line. 

 

“Fuck!” Charlie shouts, and the phone goes dead with a simple click. 

 

“Charlie?” Cas asks sharply, sitting up. “Charlie!” 

 

She doesn't reply, and Cas pulls the phone from his ear in faint horror. Sam has stopped pacing, just stands in front of Cas and hugs his arms close to his naked chest. He looks small, looks scared, looks like he's just realized there are monsters in the world he can't fight. Cas swallows thickly. 

 

“What happened?” Sam whispers. 

 

“I'm assuming the FBI found her,” Cas murmurs, averting his eyes. “Please tell me you know where she was.” 

 

Sam straightens, nods shortly, wipes away all vulnerabilities, and he looks so much like Dean that it hurts. “Yeah, I do. Not far from here.” 

 

“Get ready, we need to go,” Cas orders, standing up from the table and sweeping away to the privacy of his own room as Sam does as he was told. 

 

As soon as Cas is alone, he pulls out his phone again. He scrolls down to the random number that Dean had called him off of. The chances of it being Dean's phone are slim to none, but he has to try. He dials and lets it ring. 

 

After a moment, a click, then, “Well, it took you long enough to utilize your resources.” 

 

Cas blinks. He honestly hadn't thought that would work, but he won't miss the opportunity. “Dean, why have you done this?” 

 

“Gonna have to be just a bit more specific, sweetheart,” Dean snorts. 

 

“The news, Charlie,  _ everything, _ ” Cas reiterates tersely. 

 

Dean chuckles. It's husky and warm; Cas wants to bask in it, fights not to, closes his eyes and does anyway. “Well, if I tell you, that just takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it?” 

 

“Dean,” Cas persists roughly, eyes flying open, “stop this. Charlie is your family, is your  _ sister.  _ What do you think you're doing by having the FBI come for her?” 

 

“Charlie is a naughty, naughty girl. She's in some deep shit because  _ she  _ put herself there,” Dean huffs, not apologetic in the least. “But if you want the truth? Fine, she's a threat. Things are getting a little rough for you and Sam, aren't they? Can't have you asking help from anyone competent, y'know?” 

 

“You had the FBI take her in because you are  _ threatened  _ by her?” Cas mutters in disbelief. 

 

Dean hums. “She's good at what she does. It's a compliment. Now, is that all?” 

 

“Wait,” Cas blurts frantically, his heart stuttering in his chest, “don't.” 

 

“Don't, what?” Dean asks softly. 

 

Cas releases a slow breath, lets the words slip out in near silence, whispers, “Don't go.” 

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean sighs, sounds sad, sounds on the verge of being disappointed, “don't do this to yourself. It's too early for you to have so many feelings. Where's the angel who fights for humanity that I know and love?” 

 

“Everything I've ever done, it's been for you,” Cas admits in a croak, the words scraping from his most truthful depths. “Please, Dean, I beg of you, don't let it all be for nothing.” 

 

Dean's quiet for a moment. “Cas, I'm assuring you right now that it  _ won't  _ be. Everything is falling into place. You've worked hard,  _ really  _ hard. Don't you deserve a reward?” 

 

“I don't want it,” Cas hisses, words escaping him in a slithery lie. 

 

“Ah, but you do,” Dean counters pleasantly, sounding amused. “But that's not the point. While you got me here, is there anything else you want to ask?” 

 

“Eileen,” Cas says immediately, “is she okay?” 

 

“She's not dead,” Dean replies blandly. 

 

Cas flinches. “Don't hurt her.” 

 

“Oh, I'm not,” Dean snorts. “She's a kicker, though. She's restrained, but that's about her only discomfort. Otherwise, she's perfectly fine.” 

 

Before Cas can think about the response, before he can stop himself, he blurts, “But… why?” 

 

“Excuse me? Are you asking _why_ I haven't harmed Sam’s future wife? Damn, do you really think so little of me?” Dean mutters, offended. 

 

“Well, you haven't exactly been on your best behavior, have you?” Cas growls. 

 

“Ooh, sweetheart, I like it when you get all rough like that,” Dean laughs breathlessly, sounds honestly turned on. “Will I be punished for my bad behavior?” 

 

Cas goes very still, blinking around his room slowly. It takes him a moment longer than he would like for his mind to begin working again. When it does, he's holding his breath and his face is on fire. It takes Cas a second longer to understand what just happened, and a mere moment after, he realizes he  _ liked it.  _

 

“I will not join in such childish  _ bullshit,  _ Dean,” Cas says firmly, forcing himself to swallow around his inappropriately dry throat. 

 

“Oh, cuss again,  _ please for the love of God,  _ cuss again!” Dean moans obscenely through the phone, words breathy and tragically,  _ amazingly  _ broken by the thickness of his arousal. 

 

Cas doesn't think, just growls, “Fuck you, Dean.” 

 

“Fuck, you're perfect,” Dean pants. “Do it again.” 

 

“No!” Cas blurts, scandalized. 

 

And he cannot believe this is happening. He has no idea how the conversation got so derailed, but he is so not doing this. Dean's breathy moans and succulent words should have no effect, but they do, and Cas can't decide if it's another dream or not. To be safe, he gets them back on track. 

 

“Dean, I want you to get Charlie away from the FBI. I want you to let Eileen go. I want you to come  _ home.  _ Please, just… please,” Cas murmurs seriously. 

 

“Dammit, Cas, I was  _ so  _ close,” Dean gripes in annoyance, but he grudgingly continues in a more serious tone. “Look, you want that, but I know what you need. Everything is going to be fine, okay?” 

 

“It doesn't feel fine,” Cas mutters, frowning down at his floor, just standing in the middle of his room awkwardly. 

 

“But it will be real soon, I promise,” Dean swears, words strong and sincere. 

 

Cas’ hand trembles around the phone, his lips shake from where he tries to hold back words, but it's no use. The words break free. “I miss you.” 

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Dean whispers, “I know.” 

 

“Can you— _ will  _ you keep this phone on so I can contact you again?” Cas asks, not for potential, but because he's weak. 

 

Dean sighs heavily. “You know I can't do that, Cas.” 

 

“Get a burner phone, something untraceable, just… I need to… please,” Cas stutters out, hating that he's begging, hating that he needs, hating that he even gives Dean the satisfaction. 

 

“I'll consider it,” Dean says gently. 

 

“I'm not okay, Dean,” Cas admits. 

 

“I know,” Dean replies, takes a deep breath, assures him, “but you will be.” 

 

Cas feel tears gather at the gates of his eyes. That shouldn't be able to happen. “This is your fault, all of it,” he chokes out, and he's not even sure what he's talking about anymore. 

 

Again, Dean says, “I know, I'm sorry.” 

 

“Are you?” Cas challenges weakly. 

 

Dean doesn't lie, just breaks both their hearts when he whispers, “No.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting three chapters this week, today, tomorrow, and Saturday. It's mostly because of the flow of the fic and how I want chapters to fall on certain days, so my treat! Enjoy!

The FBI are crawling the scene of the little hotel Charlie had holed up in to escape them the first time. Riding up in suits and flashing fake FBI badges feels like danger, but they don't have much of a choice. 

 

“Confidence is key,” Sam murmurs as they sidle up behind the FBI van. “If you act like you belong here, they think you do.” 

 

“A lie you tell is only good when you believe it yourself,” Cas recites, remembers Dean's random words of wisdom. 

 

Sam stares at him for a moment, mouth turning down at the corners. “Cas, you sure you're okay about all of this? If you're getting too close—” 

 

“How dare you?” Cas interrupts quietly, his words no less harsh. “What right do you have to doubt me?” 

 

“Cas,” Sam says, but that's all he says. 

 

Right, of course. Cas has  _ feelings  _ that can be seen from space, apparently. Cas is the one Dean wants, so he has options. Cas is a threat. 

 

Cas grits his teeth, feels like the inside of his skin is burning. He is seconds from exploding, bursting his frustrations on anyone who dared question him again, including Sam. It's not fair to be looked after so closely, like some biological thing under a microscope for study, like a some potential criminal forced in a jail cell before a crime was committed. 

 

Sam had said he trusted Cas, but it doesn't appear that way now. Mostly, Cas just wants to be left alone. He's done too many things for the sake of the Winchesters to be treated like an enemy. 

 

“I can't deal with you right now,” Cas hisses, throwing a sharp glare at Sam before pivoting and walking away towards the motel room. 

 

By the time Sam might've thought to stop him, Cas is already brushing past the people in the crowded doorway. People move about, carrying computers and clicking away at a laptop on a table. Cas starts forward, but a hand against his chest stops him. 

 

“Woah there, buddy,” A man in an FBI jacket says, halting him in his tracks, “who do you think you are? This is a crime scene, you can't—” 

 

And that's it. 

 

Cas feels the ire rise in him, turns his glare to the man before him, and growls, “Do you have  _ any  _ idea who I am? This is a mess, and I've been sent to clean it up. Where are the gloves, where is the structure? Just  _ who  _ do you think  _ you  _ are?” Sweeping a hand out, Cas knocks the man's hand away from his chest and gets in his face. “Listen to me very carefully,  _ worm,  _ you are severely misinformed about me. I'm supposed to be here. Want me to leave?  _ Make me. _ ” 

 

The man blinks at him rapidly, his mouth opening and closing slowly. His earlier aggressiveness is gone, and he doesn't move to stop Cas from going any further. The surrounding people quickly turn their heads and focus back on what they were doing, some even snapping gloves on their hands. 

 

Cas ignores everyone and walks around the room, eyes the things strewn everywhere. Charlie had brought all her technology and some clothes. She'd obviously been in a rush; bags are thrown on the bed, clothes sit in messy piles, there's even a duffel full of cash. Clearly, Charlie was preparing to flee pretty far to avoid her downfall. 

 

Sighing, Cas walks over to the hotel desk where a few agents hover over a laptop, clicking their way into Charlie's privacy. 

 

It sets Cas’ teeth on edge, but he holds his tongue. He hovers behind them, zoned in on the screen. There is plenty of proof of her and Dean conversing, and there's even more proof of her helping him with certain things, but the FBI have it all wrong. All the times Charlie wiped his record, or forged him IDs, or sent him locations of things… it was from  _ before.  _

 

Of course, they don't understand that. 

 

“Move,” Cas snaps, shouldering his way towards the laptop, gently pushing people out of the way. The agent sitting at the laptop looks up at him defiantly, and Cas narrows his eyes. “Get up, I'm collecting this evidence.” 

 

The agent looks back to the man Cas had went off on, possibly looking for orders from the superior, but whatever she gets has her moving from the seat with obvious annoyance. He takes her place and hunches over the computer, scrolling through the rest of what was pulled up. 

 

Messages between Dean and Charlie swim before his eyes, endless conversations full of incriminating things. Talks of hunting, of locations, of the Apocalypse, and angels, and demons for days. To him, it’s normal, but to the FBI, it’s insane. But the thing that rips Cas’ heart out the most are the messages about none of those things. 

 

Charlie and Dean talked about any and everything. They messaged about LARPing, about Star Wars, about sexuality, about what they were doing at the time, and even about their pasts. Cas does his best to not go into great detail, doesn't want to invade their privacy like that. But he scrolls all the way down to the last messages, his heart stuttering in his chest when he sees them. 

 

The date and time says Dean sent it mere moments before the FBI broke in and took Charlie. 

 

**Thanks for all you've done, but you're not my problem anymore,** it read. 

 

That had to have been the last thing Charlie saw before she was taken to jail. Cas sucks in a deep breath, blinking rapidly. It causes his chest to ache, makes him want to cry, but he ignores it. 

 

Using the mouse, Cas scrolls up and deletes the whole conversation with one click. Slowly, methodically, Cas erases every incriminating thing he comes across. He never looks to see if he's being watched, knows that will only draw attention to him, and he keeps his posture relaxed as he does everything in his power to save Charlie from life in prison. 

 

Cas is nearly done when he finds the folder. It's just labeled  **_'CASTIEL’_ ** in big, bold letters. Carefully, Cas clicks it open. There is only one line, and it's in Enochian, but it makes Cas release a small gasp of shock. 

 

How Charlie managed to translate the words into Enochian, he will never fathom. It's incredibly smart, as no human would recognize the language. Something like pride settles in Cas’ chest, and he reads the words over and over. 

 

It's where Dean  _ lives.  _

 

Cas knows exactly where Dean is staying because  _ Charlie  _ found him, because  _ Charlie  _ told him. Closing his eyes, Cas deletes the message. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

Cas jolts around as the woman comes up behind him, her hand on her gun threateningly. He scrambles from his seat, knows he's been caught, and he snatches the laptop up, snapping it in half and throwing it to the floor with all his might. 

 

“No!” The agents yell, drawing their guns and tackling him to the floor. 

 

Cas lands with a grunt, grimacing as his face was shoved into the carpet. People yell and handcuffs clip over his wrists before he's jerked roughly to his feet. He considers flying away, considers breaking the handcuffs and making a run for it, but his grace is barely working to heal the rug-burn on his face. 

 

“You little…” The FBI agent Cas had yelled at stops in front of him, eyes blazing. “Carl, is the laptop salvageable?” 

 

Cas smirks when someone gives a weak, “No, I'm sorry, sir.” 

 

The agent's nostrils flare. “You  _ will  _ never see the light of day again, do you hear me?” 

 

Cas just rolls his eyes. 

 

He's led out the door, passing right by a very flustered Sam. He just arches an eyebrow at Sam, who looks stuck between shocked and terrified. The agent he'd been talking to huffs and taps Sam's arm, saying, “Can you believe it? The Supernatural Sadist, or his accomplice, sent someone here to destroy the evidence! That dick managed to destroy the main computer. Most of everything they have to prosecute the accomplice is gone.” 

 

Cas smiles as he's swept away, grinning as Sam's face morphs into something like relief. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening!!! *squeals*
> 
> Okay, back to regular scheduled programming. It'll be back to Wednesday and Saturday now! 
> 
> Warning for this chap: there are sounds of murder, though not witnessed, just described as they sound. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The FBI take Cas to a local station, not having the proper means to drive him to Washington until the following day. It's late in the evening when they finally throw him in a cell and slam the door. 

 

He hasn't said a word, not even when they identified him by his fingerprint, calling him Novak. He didn't speak when they interrogated him, using information about Jimmy's disappearance so many years ago incorrectly, assuming he'd been working with the Supernatural Sadist the whole time. Well, they're not too far off on that one, but it doesn't quite hit its mark. 

 

Frustrated by his silence, they threw him in a cell and left him there. He sits on the cot, tilts his head back, and waits. 

 

It takes approximately five hours before he hears any sign of his rescue. The night crew are quiet, older, and less likely to pay attention. Cas assumes Sam has come to bust him out. 

 

When the screams start, Cas realizes that's not the case. 

 

He jolts up from the cot, rushing to the metal bars and staring out in horror as terrified shouts echo throughout the building. There is a gunshot, then someone cries out, the shout gurgling off as if being blocked by blood in their throat. Cas grips the bars, his eyes wide, his heart racing, his breath punching out of him in tight gasps. 

 

A sickening crack, sharp and undeniable, followed by a dull thud, then… silence. 

 

Cas drops his hands from the bars, aching for the angel blade the FBI had confiscated. Boots slowly start hitting the floor in a slow pace, heading straight for him. It could be angels, could be  _ anyone.  _ He braces himself, eyes trained on the doorway. Slowly, a body turns into the doorway, and Cas goes very still. 

 

Dean's covered in blood, eyes blacked out, a wicked grin of excitement on his face. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

 

“Dean,” Cas exhales softly, relaxing in surprise before remembering why he shouldn't. 

 

Dean walks directly across from Cas, leans against the wall, and smiles. “I knew you wouldn't let this go, so I figured I'd stop by to see what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into.” 

 

“I'm fine,” Cas says, because he's currently trapped in a cell and can't get out, so he's most definitely  _ not  _ fine. But a lie is only good if he believes it. 

 

“I beg to differ,” Dean snorts, waving a hand at him in open amusement. “Look at you, you're caught. I thought me and Sammy taught you better than that.” 

 

“I got Charlie off,” Cas snaps, narrowing his eyes pointedly, “that's all that matters.” 

 

Dean rolls his black eyes. “You and your pesky need to to the right thing. Look where  _ that  _ got you. But I mean, kudos to you. Still doesn't change that Charlie will be locked away for a good portion of her life.” 

 

“I'll get her out,” Cas assures him defiantly. 

 

“If you even try,” Dean hisses menacingly, pushing off the wall and pacing closer with threat dancing seductively in his eyes, “I  _ will  _ kill her.” 

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, eyes slipping closed under the weight of his heartbreak. 

 

“Don't get me wrong,” Dean laughs, suddenly back to being casual, “I don't want to kill her. I like Charlie; she's like my little sister. So it would probably be best if you leave her to her fate, yeah?” 

 

“You're a menace,” Cas mutters, blinking rapidly around the sudden realization. 

 

Dean lifts a hand to place it over his heart, eyes flicking to green and going wide in mock hurt. “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

 

“Why are you here?” Cas growls out, bristling under Dean's teasing. 

 

“Well, I'm breaking you out,  _ obviously, _ ” Dean says, like “duh”. “You ready to get out of here?” 

 

Cas swallows, his eyes flicking over to the doorway warily. “Did you spare anyone?” 

 

Dean frowned. “No. They locked you up, Cas, treated you like scum. They didn't deserve to live.” 

 

“They were just doing their job!” Cas burst out. 

 

“They  _ hurt  _ you,” Dean replied sharply, jaw clenching around the words. 

 

Cas rages within himself, letting loose a growl and reaching out to grip the bars before in in a tight grasp. He tugs on them slightly, making his body rock back and forth in jerky movements, and he grinds out, “You can't just  _ murder  _ everyone who hurts me, Dean. It's not  _ right! _ ” 

 

Dean purses his lips, looks like an asshole, laughs out an amused, “Um, I actually can.” 

 

“Then murder  _ yourself, _ ” Cas orders sharply. 

 

Dean goes still, amusement draining from him rapidly. He stares at Cas, eyes green and soft, looks hurt by Cas’ statement. He looks to his feet for a moment, throat bobbing, his dry swallow loud in the silence of the room. 

 

Cas feels guilty almost immediately, wishes he didn't, can't help it. 

 

“I know it's possible to care for someone and hurt them at the same time. I don't mean to hurt you, Cas, I don't want to,” Dean murmurs quietly. “I want to walk this world with you, live in the wind, have you at my side. I won't hurt you ever again, I promise.” 

 

Cas takes a shaky breath. “Dean, don't make promises you cannot keep. Being as you are, you hurt me everyday. You hurt me by being gone, by murdering, by not coming home. You hurt me by choosing this.” 

 

Dean looks up, frowning. “Don't you  _ think  _ I know that? Fuck, Cas, a part of me wanted to come home right after, but the disease claimed me first. I've done too much to go back now. If I was cured, I would just turn right back around and kill myself. I can't handle not being like this, not anymore. I chose what was best for me, for you, for Sam. I'm tired of choosing the world, aren't you?” 

 

“But this  _ isn't  _ the best,” Cas insists softly. “Dean, I can help you. Please, just let me take you home.” 

 

“That's the thing, I don't  _ want  _ to. The part of me that might have is gone. I'm happy just how I am, why can't you see that?” 

 

“Because it hurts.”

 

Dean nodded slowly, turning his face down and hiding the way his lips quivered. “One day it won't hurt anymore. And on that day, you'll take me up on my offer. On that day, I'll never hurt you again.” 

 

“What if…” Cas lets his words trail off, shame filling him slightly before he tries again. “What if it doesn't hurt, but it should?” 

 

“Sweetheart, that's not for you to decide,” Dean whispers gently, lifting his head, walking closer to the bars. “You think way too much, and you have a horrendous habit of thinking you're not allowed things that make you happy. Why don't you just let things  _ be  _ for once?” 

 

Cas sways closer to the bars, eyes trailing over Dean's beautiful features. “You're not a good person anymore, Dean.” 

 

“No,” Dean agrees carefully, nodding his head and meeting Cas’ eyes, “I'm not. But when did I ever say that what makes you happy is supposed to be good? In fact, when did  _ anyone  _ say that? Liking bad things doesn't make you a bad person.” 

 

“But you're a bad person, you do horrible things, you  _ kill  _ people, and I…” Cas stops, his words choking off in his throat. 

 

“When it's time, when you're ready, you will join me. You will participate. You will have your pie and eat it too. But sweetheart, I know you. It's not in you to be like me, not fully, and that's why I need you.” 

 

Cas stiffens. “I will  _ never  _ kill for sport.” 

 

“It's not for sport,” Dean replies sharply, affronted by the assumption. “It's… for nourishment.” 

 

“I do not need to murder, not like  _ you,  _ Dean,” Cas hisses, mouth twisting in a grimace. 

 

Dean smiles sharply, a promise in his eyes as he says, “No, but you need  _ me. _ ” 

 

And Cas doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't have anything to say. Because, with a dawning realization of horror, Cas knows he's right. 

 

“By the way,” Dean continues, as if Cas isn't coming apart by the seams, “I brought along a gift.” 

 

That snatches Cas’ attention. “Gift,” he echoes warily. 

 

“Mhm, I'll be right back.” 

 

With that, Dean sweeps out the room, leaving Cas alone with his thoughts. 

 

Cas paces the length of his cell, twisting his hands together. He thinks about Dean's words, thinks about how true they feel. It's like a fate he can't escape, one he isn't sure he wants to. 

 

Could he truly walk the earth with Dean forever, standing idly by as Dean bathes humanity in blood and horror? It seems so incredibly far fetched and impossible, yet it dances faintly in the back of his mind like a glimpse into his future. 

 

Cas jolts and moves to the bars when a young woman is pushed into the room by Dean, her eyes narrowed in annoyance, tape over her mouth. Her hair is dark and pulled in a loose ponytail and she seems uninjured. Cas’ heart jumpstarts in his chest. 

 

“Eileen?” Cas asks carefully. 

 

She doesn't seem to hear him. 

 

“She's deaf,” Dean tells him. 

 

Cas’ eyes widen and stare at Dean in pure horror. He can't believe he needs such a devastating creature. Just as Cas was about to go into a full rant, Dean reached out and yanked the tape from her mouth while rolling his eyes. 

 

Dean shoots him a look. “Calm down, I didn't take her hearing. Jesus, what kind of person do you take me for?” He turns Eileen towards him so she can look at him head-on. “Eileen, say hi to Cas.” 

 

“Fuck you,” she spits instead, her words slightly lisped. 

 

Dean smiles at Cas. “Isn't she lovely?” 

 

“Let her go,” Cas says seriously. 

 

“Well, duh,” Dean snorts, dropping his hands from her and meeting her eyes. “Okay, Eileen, I'm about to leave Cas with you so I can handle some business. He'll take you to Sam and everything will be okay. Now, if you try to run or leave him, I  _ will  _ kill you and everyone you've ever spoke to, ‘kay?” He waits for her to give a slow nod before smiling and cheerfully continuing, “ _ Awesome!  _ Have fun bonding, you two.” 

 

With that, Dean passes over a set of keys, winks at Cas, blows him a kiss, and leaves the room. There's the distinct sound of the front door to the station closing, then silence. Eileen slowly turns towards him, looking confused. 

 

“Would you open the door?” Cas asks. 

 

Nodding, she uses the keys to swing open the door with a loud clang. “Cas, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Cas confirmed. 

 

“How do you know the demon?” Eileen asked, crossing her arms and frowning at him. 

 

“He's my best friend,” Cas tells her, signing with his fingers as he spoke. He knows over a thousand languages; it’s like motion-memory. 

 

“Was?” she suggests, eyebrows raising. 

 

Cas’ shoulders slump, he releases a long breath, averting his eyes. “Was. Are you alright?” 

 

“As fine as I can be,” Eileen mutters, lips curling in faint amusement. “The demon shoved me in a broom closet and I was able to get bleach down his throat when he opened the door. He was fine, but it sure felt good. Mostly, I'm just confused about why I'm still alive and who exactly Sam Winchester is.” 

 

A headache starts at Cas’ temples, and he just starts towards the door. He does his best to avoid looking at the mangled bodies and blood, but he's unsuccessful. He'll see their horrified faces in his nightmares for a long time.

 

A hand grabs his shoulder and tugs him around, making him face Eileen. She asks, “Where are we going? What's going on? I want  _ answers. _ ” 

 

“I'm taking you to Sam Winchester; he will give you all the answers,” Cas assures her. 

 

That seems to relax her, and Cas fights a smile. 

 

Sam is going to be  _ pissed.  _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, Cas is ever so slowly toeing a line... 
> 
> And yes, I miss the fuck out of Eileen, ok?

As expected, Sam's pissed. 

 

Well, he's pissed once he's done being relieved by Cas walking in the door with Eileen of all people, solving two problems in one go. Once he hears the story, realizes that three problems replaced the two that were solved,  _ then  _ Sam's pissed. 

 

Eileen is fiery and unforgiving, demanding answers that Cas had promised, but she does wait for them to hash out Charlie first. 

 

“We can't leave her,” Cas insists for the third time, Sam heaves a sigh. 

 

“She won't go to jail forever because of the evidence you destroyed—good going, by the way—and she'll be targeted by Dean if we try to free her.” 

 

“She's family, Sam.” 

 

Sam looks guilty for a moment, throat bobbing. “I know, but what can we do? I would rather her be alive and in prison than dead!” 

 

“Is there a way to help her…  _ without  _ helping her? Jody, perhaps?” Cas suggests hopefully. 

 

“Dean would—” 

 

“Right.” 

 

Eileen sighs heavily, walks right up to Sam, holds her hand out, and waits. 

 

“Um,” Sam says, eyes wide, lips twitching nervously. His eyes trail over her face, lingering on her hair and lips, and Cas thinks the proximity and the knowledge that Dean thinks she's perfect for him is starting to get to Sam. 

 

“Phone,” Eileen says impatiently, wiggling her fingers pointedly. “I can help with this situation.” 

 

“But—” 

 

“Sam,” Cas cuts him off, frowning, “give her your phone. I will take anything I can get.” 

 

Sam obliges, passes the phone over, and Eileen immediately types out a message on his phone. With one button, she sends it. Before Sam can even ask, his phone dings, and she smiles. 

 

“Charlie will be placed in witness protection. She will be fine,” Eileen informs them casually and passes the phone back over. 

 

“What, how?” Sam huffs in awe. 

 

“I saved the director of the FBI's son from a witch once. She owed me a favor; it's taken care of,” Eileen tells them casually, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. “Now, I want answers.” 

 

And maybe Dean was right because Sam looks halfway in love with her already. Cas fights a smile as Sam nods slowly, settling down on the motel bed to give her the answers. Eileen does not like the answers she is given. 

 

“So your brother is a demon who's in love with an angel, who kidnapped me because we are supposedly a perfect match, and he also murders people to play pranks on the both of you.” 

 

Sam has the decency to look ashamed. “Yeah, uh, you got it right on the nose.” 

 

Cas frowns, immediately jumping to his friend's defence. “Sam is not at fault for this; Dean is his own person. Whether you and Sam are compatible is entirely up to the two of you, but Sam never asked for this.” 

 

Eileen didn't react, and Cas realizes too late that her back is to him and she can't hear him or see his lips. Immediately, he walks around to stand behind Sam's shoulder and repeat himself. Once she sees what he says, she looks a little more sympathetic. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Eileen murmurs. “I know it can't be easy to have a family member end up like that, and I don't blame either of you. However, I know he'll kill me if I try to leave, so how exactly do we plan to kill  _ him? _ ” 

 

Silence blankets the room, heavy and thick. Sam averts his eyes, looking down at the floor in open regret. Cas refuses to meet Eileen's gaze, joining Sam in feeling shame. 

 

Once the silence is too much to bear, Eileen finally speaks, her words slow and accusing, “You  _ do  _ plan on killing him, right?” 

 

“No,” Sam admits seriously, looking up to finally meet her eyes, “we aren't going that route.” 

 

“What the fuck?” Eileen says blandly, eyebrows sweeping high in surprise. “What other option is there?” 

 

Cas clears his throat, meets her eyes, whispers brokenly, “We can cure him, Eileen. We can  _ save  _ him. We are going to.” 

 

“And if he doesn't want to be saved?” 

 

Sam's lips twitch in a faint, but dangerous smile for a split second. “He doesn't have a choice.” 

 

“I can't sit around and wait for you to figure out how to get control of him. I don't know if you've spent much time with him lately, but he's not exactly going to just roll over,” Eileen growls, narrowing her eyes at them in disapproval. 

 

Cas swallows. “We can't kill him.” 

 

“Okay,” Eileen allows gently, nodding her head in understanding. “Fine, you can't kill him. In that case, let me, or find someone who can. This…  _ monster  _ isn't who you once knew.” 

 

“No one is killing Dean,” Cas snaps, words sharp, eyes blazing as he looks at her.

 

“Cas,” Sam scolds lightly. 

 

Cas turns a harsh gaze to him too. “I will die before I allow harm to come to him. Dean will be cured or captured, that's  _ it.  _ End of discussion.” 

 

“And what about me?” Eileen hisses, leaning toward Cas with anger in her eyes. “Am I just supposed to stay with you forever?” 

 

“You may leave,” Cas offers, shrugging carelessly and pointing towards the door, “but you won't get very far.” 

 

The words are meant as a warning; they sound like a threat. 

 

“Cas,” Sam hisses, eyes wide with shock. 

 

Eileen sits back in her chair, eyes wide on Cas, fear plain on her delicate features. “My life will not be derailed by a madman simply because you are too weak to handle it. I will  _ not _ —”

 

“You will do  _ nothing! _ ” Cas explodes, leaning forward to slam his palm on the desk between them. He stares straight into her eyes, watches as she shrinks back slightly. “No harm will come to Dean Winchester, not from you, not from anyone. He will be cured, he will be home, he  _ will  _ be saved. Until then, you're stuck with us unless you wish to die. The choice is yours; choose wisely.” 

 

Silence blares around them, heavy and threatening. Cas sinks into it, relaxes into the high of being powerful. The fear in her eyes—the caution—feels like winning, feels like control. It's the truth, necessary, and he means every word. 

 

Suddenly, Sam breaks the silence with, “Get out.” 

 

Cas blinks, all satisfaction and power escaping him. Bleeding away, he feels drained and left with nothing but horror. He sucks in a sharp breath and reels back, swinging wide eyes towards Sam. 

 

“Sam, I'm—” 

 

“Get.  _ Out. _ ” 

 

That's no warning, and Cas knows he won't like it if he has to be told again. Swallowing thickly, Cas gives a stiff nod and ducks his head. He averts his eyes from Eileen and walks out the motel room, finding his spot in Baby to sit and wait for morning. 

 

Her seat is cold and stiff, and Cas is pretty sure he deserves it. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The following morning, Cas wakes with a jolt as knuckles rap sharply against his window. He blinks blearily around for a moment, uncertain as to how he fell asleep. On the bright side, at least there were no dreams. 

 

Sam peers at him through the window, eyebrows raised impatiently. Cas sighs, works to open the door, and slides out. The previous night preys on his mind, a sharp reminder of his harsh ways. He glances at his feet, away from Sam, guilty and ashamed. 

 

“Morning, Cas. You a bit more clear-headed today?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Sam nods, smiling softly. “Good. Go apologize to Eileen.” 

 

“I doubt she wants to see me,” Cas admits, flicking his gaze to the motel room door. 

 

“Hey,” Sam says gently, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, “quit being so hard on yourself, okay? We got a lot going on right now, and I already explained everything to her last night. She… She's a good girl, Cas. I promise, she'll understand.” 

 

“You like her,” Cas realizes, eyebrows jumping. 

 

Sam twitches his nose, eyes darting back and forth in consideration. “Dean's never really been one to be wrong when it came to my interests. In another world—one where it's not being expected—I'd fall head over heels for her. But this one? Dean fucked that up before I even got a chance.” 

 

Cas waits a moment before meeting Sam's eyes, giving him a careful look, murmuring, “Did he?” 

 

“She's not going to…” Sam stops and shakes his head, frustration painting his features. 

 

“Maybe just don't count it out, okay?” Cas suggests, backing up towards the door. 

 

Sam's head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and something like embarrassment. “I don't know what you mean, Cas.” 

 

“I think you do, Sam,” Cas says, smiles slightly, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Besides, to be perfectly honest, I don't think Dean screwed this up for you. In this, maybe—just maybe—he was right.” 

 

With that, Cas pivots and steps into the room. Sam makes a sound behind him, gargling out words and choking on thoughts, but he just ignores it and basks in his amusement. His smile dims when he shuts the door behind him, leaving Sam outside. 

 

Eileen sees him come in, crosses her arms, and stares at him warily. “Morning.” 

 

“Good morning, Eileen,” Cas replies carefully. “I would like to formally apologize for my actions last night. I am… grieving, but that is no excuse for how I acted towards you. Of course, Sam and I will be doing everything we can to help you leave.” 

 

Eileen's shoulders relax slightly, her face softening as she eyes him. “Cas, you don't have anything to apologize for. Sam explained more in-depth about your lives. And you don't have to worry about me leaving so soon.” 

 

That gives Cas pause. “Excuse me?” he blurts in blatant shock. 

 

“Eh, what can I say?” Eileen chuckles softly, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “It's a hunter's curse to get involved in things. The moment we do, we don't know how to leave well enough alone. I'm in this now, so I'll either see it solved… or I won't.” 

 

Cas grimaces. “I sincerely wish it wasn't like this.” 

 

“There are worse things to be forced into. Besides, being chosen as someone's ‘perfect woman’ is bullshit, but if it's going to happen, I'm not complaining that I'm it for that hunk of a man out there,” Eileen teases, smirk curling her lips. She jerked her chin towards the door. “He's a very handsome man, has a good heart too. Me being perfect for him? I'll take it as a compliment.” 

 

Cas releases a short breath of pleased laughter. 

 

“Now, let's figure out a way to capture a demon!” she exclaims, walking over to pat him on the shoulder and step out the door. 

 

Cas blinks after her, thinks he knows why Dean chose her after all. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my smallest chapter yet??? But the next one is where things start to get going. Anyway, enjoy!

Cas holds onto the information of Dean's location. 

 

It sits at the back of his teeth, weighing heavily on his tongue. He wants to tell Sam and Eileen, wants to slip out into the night and capture Dean alone, wants to run away to Dean and never look back. He isn't sure what he will do, given the chance, so he doesn't say or do anything about the information. 

 

Instead, he tells them of the phone call. 

 

Eileen hasn't been with them long enough to know exactly why it's not a betrayal, so Cas ignores the distrust on her face. Sam's expression is a mixture of pity and wariness, like he can't decide whether he understands why Cas called Dean, or whether he thinks it's a sign of Cas wavering to a different side. 

 

Either way, it's an opportunity. 

 

“Call him,” Sam insists. 

 

Cas fully expects it to be pointless; Dean had said he  _ couldn't  _ leave the phone on. He calls anyway, putting it on speaker and laying it on the table. It rings once, twice, three times. The fourth ring is cut off with sudden crackle. 

 

“Sweetheart, what did I say about this phone? You know I can't keep it on, right?” 

 

Cas stares at Sam and Eileen in surprise, eyes wide and throat bobbing. Sam waves a hand urgently, wordlessly ordering him to talk. 

 

“I wanted to speak with you,” Cas croaks, clears his throat. 

 

“Yeah, well, I'm trashing the phone immediately after this, so what's up?” Dean sighs. 

 

Cas takes a deep breath, thinks about what the plan is, and murmurs, “You were right.” 

 

There's silence, and Cas’ heart races in his chest. The words feel so strange falling from his lips, but they taste like freedom. He lets the words sit there, lets them mean what he wishes they did, fights not to believe them. 

 

“About?” Dean asks carefully. 

 

“Everything,” Cas whispers, closes his eyes, folds his mind away from the moment. “Eileen is perfect for Sam, almost scarily so. And— _ and  _ you were right about me needing you. I can't do this anymore, Dean; I can't deny what I want.” 

 

“It's too soon,” Dean denies immediately. “There's no possible way that you—” 

 

“Then meet me,” Cas interrupts desperately, wishing he was faking the way he begs. “Please, Dean, I need—I  _ want  _ to see you.” It's not a lie, so he knows Dean will believe that. “I can't say I'm ready to make a choice, but I can't sit by and decide on my own.”

 

“Cas, sweetheart, you  _ aren't  _ ready,” Dean breathes quietly, regret crackling through the line. “I wish you were, but I know better. What you're feeling now is just loss for the Dean I used to be. You're not aching for me, you're aching for  _ him. _ ” 

 

It's true, but it's not. Because Cas doesn't know the difference, it isn't a lie when he croaks, “I'm trying to care about which Dean you are, but I don't.” 

 

“Fine, here's a little test for you,” Dean taunts sharply, “I've got blood caked underneath my fingernails because a woman wrinkled her nose at me. I squeezed the life out of her and sliced her nose right off her face. Would you still like to see me?” 

 

Cas’ stomach rolls, he thinks he's going to be sick. He shouldn't be able to get sick, but he has to force the vomit to stay down anyway. He chooses his next words carefully. 

 

“Will you at least wash your hands?” 

 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Damn, Cas, you're still fucking hilarious. Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

 

“Then yes, I still wish to see you,” Cas manages, aches for the words to put up more of a fight before they come out. They slide out easy. 

 

“Hmm, maybe you've changed a bit. I'll have to see for myself, I guess,” Dean says lightly, flirts a little when he continues, “And sweetheart? Wear something nice.”

 

The line goes dead, and Cas lets loose a long breath, his insides quaking within him. There's a fluttering of something on the inside of his ribcage, something like excitement. He looks up at Sam and Eileen, forcing himself to remain casual. He hasn't done anything  _ wrong,  _ but he has the distinct impression that he is toeing a very bad line. 

 

The phone dings and an address pops up on his screen with the simple words:  **Come alone.**

 

“You can't go alone,” Sam says, like maybe he can see the words from across the table. 

 

“We need a plan,” Eileen states seriously, already caught up by Sam mouthing Dean's side of the conversation to her.

 

Cas just nods in agreement, tries to push down the feelings assaulting him. He feels too much, everything is stronger. Outside of feeling unwell and sleeping, he's now dealing with an onslaught of emotions, like he had when he'd become human. 

 

Sam and Eileen plan, Cas gets up to go change into something Dean might like, contemplating the state of his grace and his heart. 

 

Everything is faulty now, and Cas is  _ terrified.  _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's one of my favorite chapters! This is where things start to get really complicated. But there are some questions answered, at least! Enjoy, lemme know what ya thought in the comments!
> 
> As a warning: Dean says some not-so-nice things, makes some pretty heavy threats, and is just a general demon all around ;)

Dean's leaning against a pillar, black eyes pinned on Cas. One hand is behind the pillar, possibly gripping it, the other is tapping rhythmically against the worn part of his jeans, just below his pocket. He smirks, waiting, just… waiting. 

 

“Dean,” Cas greets softly, standing very still. He thinks, irrationally, that if he doesn't move, Dean won't either. Space; he needs  _ space.  _

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean says, his dark gaze anything but empty for once. He looks hungry, looks ready to take Cas in, chew him up, and spit him out. Black eyes glide over him, and Cas feels every inch of the ravenous pit. 

 

“You were right,” Cas says. The words don't feel like a lie, and he continues, “You were right all along. I was… mistaken.” 

 

Dean stares at him, lips twisting into a sharp grin. The dull, yellow light hanging overhead causes a sheen to form over his eyes, like sunlight amongst an abyss. “Were you?” 

 

“I was,” Cas confirms, clears his throat, forces himself to keep his gaze steady. “There's truly no point in fighting, is there?” 

 

“A willing admission, an  _ honest  _ desire,” Dean starts, words soft and careful, “that's what I want. Reluctance, losing hope, giving up? You can keep that, Cas.” 

 

Cas swallows. “I see.” 

 

“Do you?” Dean asks, eyebrows peaking. 

 

“You said I'd give in,” Cas says. 

 

“You will,” Dean hums, oh so certain. 

 

“I am,” Cas tries. 

 

Dean smiles, looks sad for a moment, shakes his head slowly. “You're  _ not. _ ” 

 

Cas feels the weight in his gut, thinks of Sam's exact position. They can't mess this up, they  _ can't.  _ Cas forces himself to relax, opens his mind up to honesty, allows it to be  _ real.  _

 

He tries again, “I need you.” 

 

It's not a lie. 

 

“I know,” Dean sighs, eyes flicking back to their original green. He looks peaceful, looks content with Cas’ admission. “I've known from the moment I died and woke up like this. All the bullshit, the fog I let cloud my mind, the fears… they've been gone. I know you need me.” 

 

“So why do you doubt me?” Cas challenges, bristling in anger. If Dean  _ knows,  _ what else does he need to say? 

 

“Do not lie to me, Cas,” Dean snaps, his free hand clenching into a fist. “Fuck, I thought you had more respect for me than that. You can need me, but not like  _ this.  _ I'm not an idiot.” 

 

Cas scrambles, tries to find the logic in the situation. It's true, it's not, and it  _ is.  _ He needs, he can't help but need, like a fresh lifeform flickering to existence, burrowing and feeding desperately on the urge to just  _ be.  _ It's impossible to crave such darkness, to succumb to the curl of disgrace, but he  _ needs.  _

 

“I— I—” Cas chokes out, stuttering and floundering for some sense of grip on the situation. 

 

“You're not ready,” Dean tells him, voice a soft croon of certainty and understanding. 

 

Cas sucks in a sharp breath. “I am, Dean. I've come to you, have I not?” 

 

“It's not time,” Dean says, frowns around the words, maybe just realizing it himself. “You can't possibly be prepared for this.” 

 

“I am,” Cas insists. 

 

Dean's eyes flick to black again, an easy transition, like something meant to be. Cas flinches, tries to cover it up, but Dean sees. Maybe he sees too much, sees the shame in Cas’ eyes, sees how Cas has to look away for wanting to look so eagerly. Cas wants to drown in the depths, and Dean sees it. 

 

“Are you?” Dean murmurs, licks his lips. “Are you going to watch me murder, Cas? You going to get off on it? Gonna  _ help? _ ” 

 

Bile boils in Cas’ stomach, tries to rise, and he swallows it down. Lies, or tells the truth, or hopes it's not real when he says, “Yes.” 

 

“Prove it,” Dean challenges. 

 

The thought—the mere  _ possibility _ —has Cas wavering in his position. Where is Sam? He can't— _ won't _ —do what's asked of him. Dean ignores his freak-out, the hand hiding behind the pillar suddenly tugging into view. Grasped in Dean's firm grip, a woman struggles. Her eyes are wide, mouth hidden behind duct tape, hands locked together in cuffs. 

 

But Cas knows her. 

 

“Daphne,” he breathes. 

 

Cas hadn't felt her presence, couldn't, and Dean had hidden her easily. Any sounds she makes are all internal, no muffled shouts or pleas escaping the too-tight tape secured over her mouth. She stares wide-eyed at Cas, recognition flaring as she gazes upon him with hope. She can't speak, yet she begs. 

 

“Remember her, do you?” Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Your  _ wife  _ here is just lovely. I can't believe you haven't checked up on her after all these years. What kind of husband  _ are  _ you?” He clicks his tongue, reaches up to gently stroke Daphne's cheek. She flinches away, and he grins, turning empty eyes to Cas. “To be fair, Emmanuel has been gone a long time now, hasn't he?” 

 

“What are you doing?” Cas asks carefully, holding his ground. Sam should be here by now. 

 

“Whatever I want,” Dean says, like it's as simple as that. Maybe it is. “Residual feelings, even bathed in  _ evil,  _ or whatever, are a bitch, lemme tell you. Did you know that I was very jealous when I realized you'd married this woman, even under false pretenses?” 

 

“Jealous?” Cas echoes, surprise trickling through him. Curiosity follows, quickly morphing to pleasure, and Cas has to violently force the feeling away. 

 

Dean nods, frowning. “I mean, dude, I was so gone on you by then. Seeing you snuggled up to her, married,  _ happy…  _ whew, I was heartbroken. Didn't really understand why then, but I get it now. Even then, you were mine.” 

 

“Yes,” Cas agrees quickly, shooting a—hopefully—reassuring to look to Daphne, her ever-growing panic making itself known as she visibly trembles and sobs. “I was, I am. No reason to be jealous, Dean. It meant nothing;  _ she  _ means nothing. Not worth your time.” 

 

“Uh huh,” Dean tuts, shooting him a doubtful look, “I'm not so sure about that, Cas. I mean, you fucked her, didn't you?” 

 

The question makes Cas pause. It hadn't been fucking; they were married. It was a comfort, a natural thing between two people. Strange as it was after the fact, it still happened. 

 

“Well?” Dean taunts, eyes narrowed into black slits. “Did you fuck her, or not?” 

 

“Emmanuel and Daphne did join in sex, yes,” Cas replies carefully, treading lightly, “but as I've said, it means nothing to me.” 

 

“How come some strange woman took in a naked man off the side of the road and decided to marry him?” Dean snaps, turning a look of utter disbelief on Daphne. “The fuck kinda shit is that? A little creepy, to be honest.” 

 

“I had no memory, no identity,” Cas murmurs quickly, drawing Dean's gaze back to him, relaxing as soon as Daphne was no longer the focus of his attention. “She was just trying to help and grew attached to me. That's all.” 

 

Dean huffs, wrinkling his nose. “She took advantage is what she did. You gotta admit, Cas, knowing what you know now… that was just wrong. She should've took you to the hospital and left you there, not find a potential life partner in a random man. You could've been anybody.” 

 

“She realized my powers early on, she didn't want me to be some science experiment. She's religious, Dean. She just wanted to help, to let me do what she thought was the work of God, and she grew to like me along the way. Marriage was a simple solution to any questions we'd be asked,” Cas explains gently. 

 

“So it meant nothing?” Dean asks, looking at Cas for confirmation, searching his gaze. 

 

_ Where the hell is Sam?!  _

 

“Nothing,” Cas confirms. 

 

“For you,” Dean allows, dangerous gaze suddenly swinging back to Daphne, “but for  _ her,  _ I'd say that's not the case. I could sense her arousal the moment she laid eyes on you. Even right now, all strung up and in danger, she wants you. It surely meant something to her.” 

 

As Sam would say, shit, shit,  _ shit.  _

 

“No,” Cas says quickly, because that's the first thing that flies from his lips. 

 

“Yes,” Dean grits out, barreling over Cas’ immediate denial. “Did she pray for a good man, a  _ Godly  _ man, and find you one day? Think her prayers were answered? Take you to bed? Take what's mine? Yes the  _ fuck  _ she did!” 

 

“Nevertheless, she is meaningless,” Cas whispers softly, suddenly inching closer to Dean with careful steps. 

 

Dean watches him draw closer, lips loosening into a smile. “Prove it.” 

 

“Sure,” Cas agrees, edging closer. He picks up the pace, confident in his plan. Sam isn't here, he should be, but he's not. Cas improvises. 

 

Walking right up to Dean, his wariness escaping him with every step that draws him closer, Cas merely shoves Daphne away. Careless, rough, nonchalant. Daphne tumbles to the floor, eyes gazing up at Cas in betrayal, but it doesn't matter. 

 

It doesn't matter, nothing does, not when Cas yanks Dean into a kiss. His hands crawl into messy, short hair, fingers tugging Dean in. Their lips cascade together, meeting and sliding around a sharp, shared sigh. 

 

It's too real to be faked. Every little moan, every arch of Cas’ body into Dean's, involuntary as they are, feels inevitable. Dean wraps him up, black eyes shuttering closed, hands grasping at his back, and Cas just… gives in. 

 

Dean's nails dig into his back, pulling him in, trying to get closer, closer,  _ closer.  _ Cas thinks he's being devoured, thinks Dean is just going to consume him, and he fails to realize why that's a bad thing. Lips press his open, tongues slide against each other, teeth tugging  _ just right.  _ Dean reaches up with one hand, delving into his hair, fingers pulling, guiding his head to the perfect angle. 

 

Dean forces, pushes, gives, and Cas just takes, takes,  _ takes.  _

 

His grace thrums within him, suddenly flickering to life, pulsing bright and proud. Cas gasps, wrenches from Dean, stares up at him in awe. Dean's eyes are green when they peel open, staring back, his own chest heaving. It feels  _ right,  _ feels like being powerful again, but how? 

 

They're still wrapped up in each other when Sam finally shows up. 

 

Dean's head snaps up the moment he hears Sam's feet shuffle into the room, and his hands clench around Cas, almost protecting him. It takes him all of two more moments before he realizes what's happened, and he turns cold, black eyes on Cas. 

 

With no warning, Dean shoves Cas back against the pillar, one hand pinning him by the throat. Cas doesn't struggle, too caught up in the feeling of his grace losing its spark. Dean gets in his face, empty eyes blank despite the betrayal marring his features. Cas tries not to feel guilty, tries to ignore his own disappointment, fails. 

 

“You  _ liar, _ ” Dean spits, fingers tightening around Cas’ throat. “You—I should have fucking known!”

 

“Yes,” Cas croaks, voice barely escaping from the hold, “you really should have.” 

 

“Cas!” Sam cries, barrels into the fray almost immediately. 

 

He comes to a halt when a gun greets him, the barrel sitting comfortably against his forehead. Dean keeps his eyes on Cas, glaring at him, but his arms splay wide, one hand pinning Cas, the other holding the gun that keeps Sam in place. 

 

“I knew you weren't ready,” Dean huffs, seems to berate himself, never looking from Cas. “You were really fucking convincing, I'll admit.” 

 

“Dean, you're caught,” Sam says slowly, eyes crossing to watch the gun, “give it up.” 

 

“Not now, Sammy,” Dean snaps, not even sparing him a glance. “I'm currently dealing with  _ this  _ asshole. How could you lie to me?” 

 

Cas feels lightheaded, tries to form words around his dizziness. “Wasn't… lying…” 

 

“This sure feels like a lie, you piece of—” 

 

The silence blares as a click echoes in the room. Slowly, oh so slowly, Dean turns his head and stares to the left. Eileen has a gun pointed straight at his skull, the look in her eyes telling them all she's only seconds from pulling the trigger. Dean's eyebrows rise, something like pride leaking into his face, and he lowers the hand holding the gun. 

 

“You're caught,” Sam repeats, reaches out and peels the gun from Dean's loose grip. 

 

“Not exactly,” Dean says. 

 

It's his only warning, and he curls the arm holding Cas, tucking him to his chest. Cas sucks in a deep breath, head throbbing, and tries to think around the puff of Dean's breath against the shell of his ear. Sam and Eileen freeze. 

 

“Dean,” Sam murmurs softly, hands held up in surrender as if talking to a wild animal. 

 

“Fly us out of here,” Dean orders, and only then does Cas feel the angel blade dig into his throat. 

 

Cas closes his eyes. “I can't.” 

 

Dean goes still, his grip going slack for a moment. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean,” Cas whispers in shame, not daring to open his eyes, “I can't.” 

 

The angel blade clatters to the ground, and Dean holds his hands up in surrender, lets Cas leave his embrace. Not embrace,  _ no,  _ Cas reminds himself, stepping away and rubbing at his sore throat. Dean doesn't look giddy anymore, his eyes focused only on Cas, and he looks worried. 

 

“Who's this?” Eileen asks, flicking her gaze to Daphne who was still on the ground. 

 

“Daphne,” Cas sighs, starts to walk over. 

 

“Don't,” Dean growls, eyes blazing when Cas pauses to look. “Don't you fucking dare, sweetheart. You touch her and when I get free, I'll rip her fucking throat out.” 

 

Cas doesn't move, just looks at Sam. 

 

“Right,” Sam mutters, clears his throat, “come on, miss.” He walks over and gently peels the tape from her mouth. “We'll let you get home safe, okay?” 

 

“Emmanuel,” Daphne gasps out as soon as she's able, scrambling up to her knees and hobbling over to Cas with tears in her eyes, “what's—” 

 

“Touch him,” Dean hisses, stepping in her path, eyes still black and merciless, “and you die.” 

 

Daphne muffles a sob around her hand, tries to scramble away from Dean, and Cas is transfixed by the possessiveness in Dean's face. Sam helps her to her feet, shoots Dean a scolding look, like that  _ matters,  _ and starts talking to her in a soothing tone as he leads her to the door of the warehouse. By the time she reaches the entrance, she's running, bolting out and taking the car Dean had brought her in. 

 

At her exit, Dean relaxes. 

 

“Well,” Sam sighs, shooting Dean a wary look before gripping his arm, “time to go.” 

 

“Cas, what's wrong with you?” Dean asks, lets himself be led to the Impala. 

 

Cas doesn't answer. 

 

Sam settles Dean in the back, lets Eileen get up front and train her gun on him, and then gets behind the wheel. Cas has no choice but to join Dean in the backseat. 

 

“Move, and  _ you  _ die,” Eileen warns, keeps the gun pointed straight at Dean. 

 

Baby comes alive with a growl, they start off, and Dean never takes his eyes away from Cas. It's dusk out, just the hint of light peeking at the treetops, orange and pink painted thinly in the darkening backdrop. Cas keeps his gaze firmly out the window. 

 

His mind turns over, twisting and trying to right itself. He remembers the feel of Dean's tongue in his mouth, how his lips pressed moans into his throat. He can still feel the grip of Dean's hands across his back, tugging him closer, and remembers all too well how Dean's hand had gripped his throat, pinning him in place. 

 

There will be a bruise. 

 

Cas thinks of Daphne, thinks of her shining eyes, lit up in hope and fear and  _ pain.  _ Dean had scared her, but Cas knows his offence will last much longer. He'd betrayed her, failed to protect her, completely ignored her in his hopes of tasting the sweet allure of darkness. 

 

_ No,  _ it had been improvising. He'd just wanted to help her, just wanted to stop Dean. But try as he might, Cas fails to lie to himself. He knows exactly what he'd wanted, knows how everything—the plan, Dean's current status,  _ Daphne _ —stopped existing the moment he gave into his deepest desires. 

 

Good intentions often pave the way to hell. 

 

“Cas,” Dean tries again, his voice soft and slow, careful like walking on ice. 

 

Cas hates how normal he sounds, how normal he looks, how normal he  _ feels.  _ Dean is just Dean to him, even now, possibly in any situation. It makes Cas weak, and he thinks that it's always been that way. 

 

“Shut up,” Eileen grits out, sharp and heated. 

 

Cas has to grit his jaw to keep in his reprimand. Instinct pushes him to defend Dean, to choose him as he always has. But he stares at the sky, watches as the denser parts start to blot out the swirls of light, oh so slowly taking over. 

 

Cas swallows, forces himself to keep breathing. 

 

“Look,” Dean snaps, keeping still in his seat. Despite his lack of movement, the one word makes him feel larger, makes it seem like he's filled up the whole car, like he's suddenly bigger than all of them. His presence is suffocating, his words sharp and cutting as he continues, “I really like you, Eileen, I do, but if you don't allow me to check on Cas, I  _ will  _ kill you. I'd love to let Sam be happy, but there are plenty of other women.” 

 

“Dean,” Sam warns, “stop it. Cas is fine, leave Eileen alone. We'll talk once you're cured, okay?” 

 

“He is not fine,” Dean growls, eyes still focused on Cas. “What happened to him? Why aren't his bruises healing? Why couldn't he fly away? What's wrong with him?” 

 

Dean sounds concerned. It's ironic, alarming, and pleasing all at once. Cas can't speak, can't put into words what he's been avoiding. Fortunately, Sam seems comfortable with talking for him. 

 

“He's having issues with his grace right now, okay?” Sam says calmly. “It's fine.” 

 

“Fine?” Dean blurts out, harsh and loud in the space around them. “Are you fucking kidding me? His grace is messed up and y'all haven't fixed it yet? What the fuck, Sam!?” 

 

Sam sighs. “Stop yelling. Cas said it's fine, so it's fine. Besides, we've been preoccupied lately.” 

 

“That's bullshit,” Dean states, voice going low in disbelief and annoyance. “Cas, what's wrong? Look, I'm caught now, okay? You can tell me, sweetheart. Just… talk to me.” 

 

Cas slowly turns his head, catches Dean's gaze. He looks sincere, worry clinging to his stiff posture. Despite everything, Dean really  _ is  _ worried about Cas’ current issues, and that alone has Cas opening his mouth to explain. 

 

“I recently obtained my grace from Metatron and it  _ was  _ fine, but something has gone wrong. It's been acting strange lately,” he says. 

 

“Acting strange?” Dean mutters, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “How does grace act strange? Is it, like, sentient or something?” 

 

“Not exactly. It's my essence, my very being, the source of my angelic status. As I'm an angel, it is  _ me.  _ But it has felt impure recently, started dimming, so to say,” Cas explains, frowning. 

 

“So… you're becoming human?” Dean asks warily, words slow and heavy. 

 

“Not exactly,” Cas reassures him, never thinking about  _ why  _ he was doing so. “Faulty grace can be a number of things, but falling is a choice. A choice I don't recall making.” 

 

“Okay, so what is it?” Dean presses, shifting ever so slightly. 

 

“I said,” Eileen snaps, shoving the gun in Dean's face, finger hovering over the trigger, “don't move!” 

 

“Stop,” Cas growls, leaning forward in his seat and pinning Eileen with a warning look. His heart races at the flash of fear on her face, doubt springing to her mind obviously. Still, ever so slowly, Eileen relaxes her stance and returns her gaze to Dean, her jaw clenched. 

 

“Aw,” Dean hums, pleased. 

 

“Shut up,” Cas bites back, narrowing his eyes and focusing them on Dean. “As I was saying, I'm not becoming a human. My grace is no longer reactant to me; it doesn't feel like it's mine anymore, though I know it is. In short, my grace is losing its compatibility with me.” 

 

“Okay,” Dean murmurs slowly, processes that with wide, flickering eyes, his gaze seeming to try and search out answers in the air, “but what does that mean? Why is it no longer, uh, compatible?” 

 

Cas sighs, his heart clenching. “I'm not entirely sure. It could have been tampered with.” 

 

“Metatron,” Dean barks, bristling in anger. 

 

“Cas, why haven't you told me this?” Sam speaks up, sounding wary and unsure, back to accusing him again. 

 

Cas’ nostrils flare wide, bitterness crawling up the back of his throat as he replies, “You never asked.”

 

Sam goes quiet again. 

 

“I'll kill him,” Dean swears, shifting in his seat to focus on Cas’, eyes bright with promise. “I'll make him fucking fix it. He'll fix it, I promise, and then I'll kill him. Don't worry, I'll get it worked out.” 

 

“I'm not sure if that's the case,” Cas replies quickly, stomach twisting in horror, heart speeding up in delight.  _ Shit.  _ “There are a number of things that could be wrong.” 

 

“Like what?” Dean asks. 

 

“As I've said, there could have been tampering. There's always the possibility that the grace is rejecting  _ me, _ ” Cas admits, the mere thought making him want to cry. 

 

“Oh,” Dean says softly. He reaches out with one hand and places it on Cas’ leg, a comforting weight. “I'm sure that's not the case, Cas. Why would your grace reject you?” 

 

_ You,  _ Cas thinks. 

 

“I'm not sure,” he says instead. 

 

“Any other reason?” Dean insists, hand squeezing his thigh in a gesture of genuine kindness. 

 

“There is always the possibility that my Father is cutting me off from grace,” Cas replies casually, shrugging, “though that seems highly unlikely.” 

 

Dean snorts. “Right. Okay, so I can  _ still  _ kill Metatron, just in case. We'll figure it out. In the meantime, what's going to happen to you?” 

 

“I cannot exist as an angel without my grace. If it fails entirely, I'll die,” Cas states blandly, turning his gaze away. “If I do not wish to die as an angel, I'll have to fall and become human.” 

 

Sam sucks in a sharp breath. “Cas, what the fuck? Why didn't you—” he stops himself, tries again in a gentler tone. “I really wish you would've told me about this before now.” 

 

“We were busy,” Cas whispers, his gaze falling to his lap in shame. 

 

“No,” Dean says, words cutting through the tension. His hand leaves Cas’ leg, reaches over and grabs his wrist,  _ grips it.  _

 

“What?” Cas murmurs, his breath thinning out in his chest, making it a struggle to breathe around the waves of excitement from that one touch. 

 

“You can't be a human,” Dean insists, scooting closer to Cas in the seat. “I won't let that happen. We have a lot of years ahead of us. Centuries, really. Can't be by my side if you're human.” 

 

“Dean,” Sam scolds, “what part of  _ curing you _ did you not hear? You're going to be human.” 

 

Dean scoffs, drops Cas’ hand. “Yeah, that's a no from me. Not gonna happen.” 

 

“Oh, it's going to happen,” Eileen taunts, shaking her gun pointedly. “You're not going anywhere.” 

 

“Wrong again,” Dean laughs, smirk twisting his lips as his eyes flick to black. 

 

“I will shoot you,” Eileen warns, no lies anywhere in her face. 

 

“I know,” Dean agrees, snorts derisively, shoots Cas a look, like  _ can you believe her?,  _ and waves a hand carelessly, “but that doesn't matter. Shoot me, go ahead, I don't care. It won't kill me. The only thing that can kill me is  _ gone.  _ I made it disappear long ago. Poof.” 

 

Dean waves his hands in the air, smile wide and mocking. Cas’ eyes widen, fear dropping into his gut like cascading pebbles. Eileen's eyes cloud in confusion, her doubt making her grip around the gun loosen. Sam's eyes find Cas’ in the rearview mirror, but it's too late. 

 

Dean winks at Cas and throws his body to the side as he opens the door. He rolls out, body disappearing among the thick weeds and shelter of the woods. Eileen's gun goes off a little too late, and Sam slams on the brakes, making Baby's tires squeal as she fishtails in a wide arc. They end up facing the opposite way, Cas’ head aching from where he hit the window, Sam's nose bleeding from where he hit the steering wheel, and Eileen caught in the floorboard, small body tumbled tightly in the space. 

 

Dean is gone. 

 

Cas groans, brings life to what they're all thinking, puts the situation into surprisingly clear perspective, says with depressing conviction, “ _ Fuck! _ ” 

 

Fuck, indeed. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna put it out there, I really REALLY love Eileen, okay? I love her as a person, I love her with Sam, I just... love her. 
> 
> Anyways, warning: small mentions of blood, death, sex. 
> 
> Carry on, enjoy <3

They take it back to the bunker. 

 

It's their safe haven, where they come together to plan, where they find small slices of peace together. 

 

It takes a week of dead-end plans before they realize that they are screwed. They have no way to contact Dean, no way to find him, and there is even less on finding out what's wrong with Cas. 

 

At first, Eileen had been restless. She didn't seem to be a fan of new places, and seemed to hate the idea of squirreling away underground even more. But slowly, she adapted. Cas figures that has a lot to do with Sam rather than the bunker itself. 

 

Cas sleeps now, restlessly or dreaming of black eyes hovering over his. When he wakes in the morning—always later than them—he often walks in on Sam and Eileen bonding. They hide cute smiles behind coffee mugs, eyes running into each other's and not really straying away. 

 

As the days turn to weeks, Eileen teaches Sam sign language, reaches out to hold his hands in the correct form, and more often than not, her touches linger. Sam leaves research to hunker down and watch movies with her, fine with losing time towards finding Dean. He always looks guilty at first, like he shouldn't dare to have fun and live outside of the horrors hanging on the door, but Eileen would put on the subtitles, curl up into Sam's side, and laugh a bit too loud at the funnier parts. Sam never looks guilty for long after that. 

 

And it's adorable really, but Cas always gets this feeling in his chest when he sees them together and so happy. It's something like an itch within him that won't quit, something frustrating, an ache that refuses to go away. It takes him a little while to realize that it's envy. 

 

He wants that, and not just with  _ anyone.  _

 

His dreams are no help. Sometimes when he sleeps, he dreams of nothing, just seems to fall off and come back. Those are his favorite nights, or so he tells himself. But there are others where he dreams of being intimate with Dean, and it's so much more than just sex. While sex of all kinds  _ does  _ play an active role in his subconscious, there are much worse things. 

 

He dreams of bathing in blood with Dean, of holding a knife while Dean's hands guide him to murder, of leaning over bodies to shut their vacant eyes while Dean cackles behind him. Worse than that—to Cas at least—he dreams of cuddling with Dean, of sharing smiles and letting touches linger as they used to before, of finally letting himself be in love without any care or reservations about why he shouldn't. 

 

Things blossom between Sam and Eileen sweetly; Cas watches and tries not to drown in his own misery. 

 

He reaches the end of his rope on a Thursday. 

 

“Morning, Cas,” Sam greets, pushing a cup of coffee across the table.

 

Cas immediately takes it, blowing on it like Eileen taught him to do, and sighing around a gulp of what may just be heaven in a cup. Eileen watches him with a fond smile, eyes soft as she leans on the counter behind Sam. 

 

“Sam,” Cas greets roughly, clears the sleep out of his throat, tries again, “Eileen.” 

 

“Eileen and I… well, we were thinking…” Sam starts, words trailing off as he bites his lip. 

 

Cas blinks slowly, thinks about how they are already a  _ “we”,  _ wonders how they haven't made it official yet. But the look on Sam's face, and the way Eileen avoids his eyes, tells him he isn't going to like this. Eileen can't hear Sam—she is behind him—so that means they've already talked about this, means she  _ knows  _ what Sam's going to say, means it was more than just  _ thinking,  _ means they have been planning whatever is coming. 

 

It bothers Cas slightly, so there is annoyance in his voice when he says, “Continue.” 

 

Sam clears his throat, pauses to share a look with Eileen, and does as Cas demands. “Well, we noticed that you're more… human-ish now, and we were thinking about that. You know how Dean doesn't want you to become human?” 

 

“Yes,” Cas murmurs, puts his coffee mug down. He sincerely doesn't like where this is going. 

 

“Dean's whole thing about staying a demon is living forever with  _ you,  _ right? And he wants to give me a happy life with a family. But what  _ if _ —just hear me out—what if none of that was possible?” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Sam takes a deep breath, meets Cas’ eyes, and manages, “What if you  _ were  _ human? What choice would Dean have besides coming home?” 

 

Everything comes to a screeching halt in Cas’ mind, and he just stares at Sam. It takes him a long time to reply, stewing in silence while all his functions work to kick-start back up. “Are you serious?” 

 

“Yes, look, I know it's not ideal. And if you're here, I can't exactly have the  _ happy  _ life, right? I mean, by Dean's standards,” Sam insists, eyes going wide around the insinuation that Cas being around throws a wrench in all his  _ happy.  _

 

The thought has never occurred to Cas that he’s the reason Sam and Eileen haven't become something. It hurts to think about, but he realizes many things all at once. All the conversations he walked in on, how they ended with blushing faces and cleared throats, how he hadn't blinked twice at clearly interrupting something…  _ fuck.  _

 

But on top of that, Sam is asking him to rip out what's left of his dying grace. 

 

“I don't think you understand, Sam,” Cas says carefully, looking at him seriously, “I can't just decide to be human. To rip out one's grace is… it's akin to dying and being reborn, a choice not made so flippantly. It's quite literally my essence, and to throw that away… I can't just  _ do  _ that.” 

 

“But it's malfunctioning anyway, right?” Eileen asks, stepping up beside Sam's shoulder. “What if ripping your grace out is the only thing that saves you, is the only choice you have left?” 

 

Cas growls, slams his hand on the counter. “I may very well just die then! I will hesitate before ripping my grace out, even to my death. Would either of you trade in your life to return to infancy as a… let's just say a flea?” 

 

Sam's eyebrows crawl up his forehead, Eileen's head pulls back slightly, and great, they're offended. Sam rolls his eyes. “You've been a  _ flea  _ before.” 

 

“Against my will!” Cas explodes, throwing his hands up. “It was not easy, I promise you. I've always appreciated humanity, adore it even, but I'm not a good human. I'm more useful as an angel, trust me.” 

 

“But what about Dean?” Eileen presses, lips twitching down in a frown. 

 

“I will do everything and anything for Dean, but it's very clear he's happy how he is.” 

 

“And what, we're just supposed to respect his decision!?” Sam argues. 

 

“Perhaps,” Cas snaps before he can stop himself. 

 

Sam flinches back, Eileen's mouth drops open in surprise.  _ Shit.  _ Cas takes a deep breath, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

 

“You don't mean that,” Sam whispers. 

 

“I don't…” Cas starts, trails off, finishes his answer in honesty, “I don't know.” 

 

“Cas, if you become human, Dean  _ will  _ come back. We will have a chance at saving him, and everything can go back to how it was,” Sam tells him earnestly, eyes wide, throat bobbing. 

 

“Things will  _ never  _ be the same for any of us, Sam, and you know that,” Cas whispers, bowing his head. 

 

Sam lets out a shuddering breath. “I don't understand what you have going on with him, and I doubt I ever will, but we have to stop this before you end up doing something terrible.” 

 

Cas’ head snaps up, eyes wide, heart sinking rapidly in pained surprise. “You think so little of me? After— _ after everything?  _ Sam, I fight every day not to give in, I fight my desires, I fight love. How can you decide I've already given up?” 

 

Sam's mouth tightens in displeasure, and he truly  _ doesn't  _ understand because he says, “You shouldn't have to be fighting at all, Cas.” 

 

And he's  _ right.  _

 

The words strike a chord within Cas, sending him spiralling in mere seconds. He's an angel, a savior, a warrior for humanity. He shouldn't have to struggle through every second deciding  _ not  _ to destroy the world. Sam is entirely right. 

 

It fucks him up, makes him lose all understanding of what he's turning into. He can't handle Sam, can't tolerate Eileen, so he just turns and leaves. 

 

As he leaves, he stops in the doorway, doesn't look back when he chokes out, “My love for you was enough to fight.” 

 

He doesn't think about the word  _ “was” _ as he escapes to his room. He just slams the door, grabs Dean's old worn duffle, and actively doesn't think about what exactly he's planning to do. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* I really wanna post two chapters at once because they coincide, buuuuut... I also kinda wanna wait. I guess if y'all tell me you wanna see the next chapter, I'll post it, if not, ill see y'all Wednesday. 
> 
> Warnings: references to murder, not explicit.

It takes Cas three days to get to Dean's home. 

 

The address Charlie had given him was always at the back of his mind. He'd expected a warehouse, or something abandoned, but it was just a regular house surrounded by woods and no neighbors. It even has a white-picket fence that Cas is sure made Dean laugh when he got it. 

 

He'd spent the whole ride wondering exactly what he was doing between the sleep he'd managed and the more aggressive dreams he was assaulted with. But he's arrived on the third night, in the pitch black, and not a light is on in the house. 

 

“What are you  _ doing?”  _ he asks himself, not for the first time, but definitely for the last. 

 

He has no answer, yet again, so he shoves himself from the car he stole from the bunker's garage, and starts towards the house. He's going off false bravado when he climbs up the rickety stairs and knocks heavily against the door. 

 

He waits, and waits, but no lights come on, no steps sound through the house, the door doesn't swing open. He frowns, hopes Dean isn't out. If he is, Cas isn't above breaking in and waiting for him to return. 

 

With that in mind, Cas hops back down the stairs and heads towards the back. He searches for a window he can shimmy up, just like Dean taught him, and slowly circles the house in hopes of an opportunity. Instead, just as he's turning the corner, arms encircle him from behind, and one hand covers his mouth while the other holds him firmly against a chest he recognizes all too well. Cas starts to fight, irrationally angry, but lips next to his ear stop him. 

 

“Sweetheart, you continue to surprise me.” 

 

Cas wants to fight, wants to break away and figure out just what made him come here, but he doesn't get the chance. Something heavy knocks into his head and everything goes dark. 

  
  


* * *

 

The first thing Cas realizes when he wakes up is that he's tied very firmly to a chair. The second thing is Dean sitting across from him when he peels open his eyes. The throb in his head dims as he fully comes to, eyes blinking blearily, senses waking back up. 

 

Dean smiles at him, then, “Morning, sunshine.” 

 

Cas doesn't deem that worthy of a response, casts his gaze around the room. It's bare and cold, like any other basement, but what sets it apart is the floor and walls being covered in plastic. Right, a perfect place to murder, no bloodstains. 

 

“How many people have you killed down here?” Cas asks, genuinely curious. 

 

“A few,” Dean admits, looking around the room. 

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Cas murmurs. 

 

Dean's eyebrows jump, and he snorts. “No, sweetheart, I'm not going to kill you.” 

 

“Oh,” Cas says, settles back in the chair. 

 

“How did you find me?” Dean asks. 

 

Cas doesn't even hesitate, though he probably should. “Charlie.” 

 

Dean shakes his head with a rueful smile. “I knew she was a threat.” 

 

“Don't drag her into this,” Cas whispers softly, begs with his eyes. 

 

“Oh, I won't. She's in witness protection, and she will stay there. Don't know how y'all managed that, but it's worlds better than prison.” 

 

“That was Eileen.” 

 

“Ah,” Dean chuckles, shakes his head, smiles in open pride, “I knew she was a good one. How are her and Sam, by the way? Did Dean, the matchmaker demon, fail or succeed?” 

 

Cas’ lips twitch. “They were wary at first, but they seem very happy together.” 

 

“Well,” Dean murmurs, gaze heavy on Cas, green eyes soft, “looks like everyone got their happy-ending. Everyone, that is, except us.” 

 

Cas thinks about the old Dean when he replies, “Them's the breaks.” 

 

Dean frowns at him, looks curious. “Why are you here, Cas? What plan have you got cooked up now? Are Sam and Eileen a few minutes behind you?” 

 

“Sam and Eileen don't even know I'm gone, though I'm sure they're working that out now, possibly even as we speak. As for plans… I have been trying to form a solid one since I left, but I have yet to do so. And Dean, to be perfectly honest with you, I'm here because I miss you, because I'm scared, because I don't want to be anywhere else.” 

 

“You  _ do  _ realize that you're walking a very thin line right now, don't you?” 

 

Cas nods, smiles bitterly. “I'm aware. But the way I see it… I'm dying  _ anyway,  _ so what does it matter?” 

 

“Oh,” Dean hums, nodding in understanding, “so you're here to grant your own dying wish?” 

 

“So to speak,” Cas breathes. 

 

Dean purses his lips, narrows his eyes, and heaves a long breath through his nose. “You know I'm not going to to let you die, right?” 

 

Cas blatantly ignores that. “Did you know that Sam asked me to remove my grace in hopes of you coming home to be cured?” 

 

Dean tuts, rolls his eyes. “Solid plan, I'll admit, but it wouldn't have worked. I'd just live what little life you had out with you, and then I'd find my own life after, or die if I was too far gone.” 

 

“You've got a plan for everything, don't you?” 

 

“Gotta cover all my bases, Cas.” 

 

“And what's your plan for if I die within the next few months?” Cas wonders, eyebrows raising. 

 

“I'd murder the world, find God, make him give you back,” Dean says simply, shrugs as if it's that simple, and to him, it truly is. 

 

“And if he didn't?” Cas croaks out, eyes wide. 

 

“I'd murder him too,” Dean says, and it sounds like a fact, like a promise. 

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers quietly, the name cracking around his teeth. 

 

Fuck, everything  _ hurts.  _ Being loved so deeply, so darkly, so  _ endlessly,  _ it's the most soothing thing he's ever felt, even while it scrapes him raw. 

 

“Tell me, Cas, what are you hoping happens from this visit?” Dean asks, bats away Cas’ struggles like they are meaningless. Maybe they are. 

 

“I was hoping for things to make sense,” Cas admits, looking at Dean with a sad smile. “I was hoping something would happen that would make me stop needing you. But in truth, I was hoping that I'd come here and never  _ leave. _ ” 

 

“Cas, you will have to make a choice someday, and soon,” Dean tells him seriously. 

 

“I can't, not now,” Cas mutters, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

 

“How about this? How about I show you something,  _ bring  _ you something, and we figure things out together? Sound good?” Dean says gently. 

 

Cas takes a deep breath and nods, watching as Dean smiles and leaves the room. He's left to his own thoughts, left to think about the state of the world depending on his weakness for Dean Winchester, hating himself because he knows that's not very good odds for the world. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the last chapter ties into this one and people expressed wanting to see this one early after I asked if they would, so here we are, another early chapter. Yes, I will still post on Wednesday and Saturday and will do my best not to veer off schedule again. 
> 
> I really hope y'all like this chapter, and remember... y'all read the tags, y'all know *exactly* what y'all are getting into here. 
> 
> *smiles innocently* 
> 
> Anywho, warnings: This chapter is a bit heavier, a bit more explicit, but not the worst things that's coming... so keep that in mind. For this chapters, there is choking by fingers down a throat, so please be careful. 
> 
> Thank you all and enjoy!

Cas is yanked from his thoughts as Dean enters the room again, hauling a body with a bag over its head behind him. He immediately recognizes Metatron's plump body as it's dragged in, and Cas’ chest warms in pleasure for the barest of seconds. 

 

“Tada!” Dean exclaims dramatically, forcing Metatron to his knees and yanking the bag off his head. 

 

“You brought me… Metatron,” Cas notes blandly, forcing his excitement away, denying it exists. 

 

“Yup,” Dean says cheerfully, green eyes wrinkling at the corners from happiness. 

 

Cas doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at Metatron, notices the tape over his mouth, looks at the fear on his face. “What have you done to him?” 

 

“I kicked his ass,” Dean chuckles, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “Oh, I also took his grace.” 

 

“You…  _ what? _ ” Cas yells sharply, eyes going wide. 

 

Dean shoots him an unimpressed look. “Not for me, dumbass, for  _ you _ .” 

 

Metatron starts swaying, shaking his head rapidly and shouting against the tape. His words were muffled, eyes wild. Cas wrinkles his nose at him, casting his gaze back towards Dean. 

 

“Let him speak.” 

 

Dean does as he orders immediately, and Cas tries to ignore the thrill he gets from that, fails. 

 

“You… you can't,” Metatron gasps out, taking in lungfuls of breath. 

 

“Can't, what?” Cas asks. 

 

When Metatron doesn't immediately answer, Dean cuffs him over the back of his head. Metatron winces and shrinks away from Dean, hurrying to talk. “I know what's wrong with you, Castiel. You can't take my grace within yourself, it will kill you.” 

 

“Why?” Dean growls, kneeling down beside Metatron and holding his gaze. 

 

Metatron licks his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looks between Cas and Dean. Finally, he turns his full attention to Cas and says, “You are not being cut off from your grace, and I certainly never tampered with it. But it's diminishing, isn't it? You're losing power, even as we speak, aren't you?” 

 

“Get to the point,” Cas orders, narrowing his eyes. 

 

“I—I will,” Metatron stutters, looking over at Dean before taking a deep breath and bravely demanding, “I will tell you everything if you promise to give me my grace back and let me go.” 

 

Dean's hand snaps out quickly, fingers curling around Metatron's chin, forcing his head back. Metatron thrashes in his grasp, trying to fight, trying to escape, but he fails. Without hesitation, Dean shoves two fingers down Metatron's throat and forces him to choke and gasp. 

 

Cas watches Metatron's stomach recoil in on itself before expanding as it tries to decide whether to release its contents or not. Dean's green eyes gleam, fading to black as Metatron's face slowly went from pink, to red, to purple. 

 

It should be sickening to watch, but Cas can't tear his eyes away. 

 

Just as it seems that Metatron will turn blue and finally vomit, Dean yanks his fingers back and wipes them on Metatron's ugly shirt. Metatron sags, hacking and doing his best to breathe. 

 

“I said,  _ get to the point, _ ” Cas repeats slowly. 

 

Dean's head whips around to look at him. His eyes flick to green, awe and attraction obvious in his gaze. Cas ignores it. 

 

“Okay, okay,” Metatron wheezes, going limp against the wall and turning pained eyes on Cas. “You and Dean are connected. When you pulled him out of hell, some of your grace stayed within his soul.” 

 

“Yes, I know,” Cas says, waving a hand carelessly, ignoring the weight of Dean's eyes on him. “It left a handprint on his arm. Continue.” 

 

Metatron takes in a shaky breath. “When Dean transformed into…  _ this,  _ his soul became marred and impure. In most cases, that would've just eradicated the grace within him, or tainted it. But that's not what happened. Your grace is so strong within him that it clings to his soul, constantly working to cleanse it, choosing to stay tied to him. The reason behind it is so pure, so full of love, that it manages to stay untainted.” 

 

Cas leans fully against the back of the chair, his breath escaping him in one long exhale. “But that doesn't make sense. I don't understand.” 

 

“Your grace is your essence, Castiel—it’s  _ you.  _ It means that your love for Dean Winchester outweighs the evil within him,” Metatron tells him, his eyes flicking shut. He continues solemnly, “It also means that the taint that's supposed to overtake your grace within him is being fed to the source that doesn't reside within him.” 

 

Cas felt tingles shoot up his spine, shock and disbelief coursing through him. 

 

“No,” Cas chokes out. 

 

“What?” Dean asks sharply. “What's wrong?” 

 

“That's right, lover-boy,” Metatron spat, eyes blazing in anger, “your love for a monster is turning you into a monster. You have gone and done it this time, Castiel. When he affects you fully, when he drains you completely, when you _die,_ I hope you suffer!” 

 

Dean's hands jerk back from Metatron, his gaze rushing to land on Cas in horror. “It's… It's me? I'm killing you?” 

 

Metatron busts out into laughter. It rattles and wheezes from his lips, makes him wince as his body shakes, but it's clear he's relishing in it. “Oh yes, Dean, yes you are. And what's worse than that? You're killing  _ yourself.  _ When his grace is officially rotted, the grace within you will rot as well. You'll die right along with him!” 

 

Cas’ eyes fly up to land on Metatron, and he feels his face go hard, carving into stone. Slowly, without glancing from Metatron, he says, “Let me out of this chair.” 

 

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, that one word weighing down with every emotion. 

 

“Let me out!” Cas explodes, making Metatron go silent and still. 

 

Dean walks over, fishes a knife out of his pocket, and cuts away the rope. The moment he steps back, Cas strides out of the chair to crouch down in front of Metatron to look him straight in the eyes. 

 

“You're going to tell me how to fix this, and you're going to tell me right now,” Cas orders firmly. 

 

Metatron gives a weak smile. “Castiel, there is nothing that  _ can  _ fix this. Even if you cure him, you both will still rot, him just a lot faster. The moment he became a demon, the taint killed you. The link between you both will be your downfall. Any grace you steal will only speed up the process. You two are dying, slowly but surely, and there is absolutely nothing either of you can do about it.” 

 

“In that case,” Cas hisses sharply, “you are of no use to me. So I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to get up, walk right out of this room, and Dean is going to rip your heart out. I will not feel an ounce of guilt, nor will I stop him.” 

 

With that, Cas bounces to his feet and starts out of the room, briefly meeting Dean's eyes. Just as he's about to cross the threshold, Metatron calls out to him, gasping, “Wait! Wait, Castiel, please.” 

 

“Why?” Cas asks coldly as he turns to him, eyebrows sweeping high. 

 

“There's something else,” Metatron says, swallows thickly, “but you're not going to like it.” 

 

“Tell me.” 

 

“Okay, but…  _ promise me _ I will be spared.” 

 

Cas considers, blinking. “Dean will not rip your heart out, this I promise you. Now… continue.” 

 

“Okay,” Metatron breathes in relief, nodding his head jerkily. “If you wish to live, you have to keep the bond strong, both of you. Only the purest form of love can give you your power back, can ignite your grace. Castiel, it won't work, he's not capable of that as he is, but that's the only thing that will keep both of you alive. Do you understand?” 

 

Cas thinks about the moment he and Dean kissed, thinks about his grace coming alive within him, and he does understand. 

 

Nodding, Cas says, “Thank you, Metatron.” 

 

“Okay, so I can go now?” Metatron asks nervously. 

 

Cas tilts his head. “I never said you'd live, only that your heart won't be ripped from your chest.” 

 

“Castiel, no!” Metatron gasps, eyes going wide. 

 

“Dean,” Cas says blandly, looks at Dean's blissed out expression, orders without regret, “crush his heart, but leave it in his chest.” 

 

With that, Cas leaves the room, the screams floating out behind him like a soft croon. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the inevitable smut chapter. No serious warnings, just blood mentioned... Uh, not involved with the smut part. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy it, and I hope to hear what y'all thought of it!

Cas doesn't leave. 

 

He climbs the stairs from the basement and walks through the house. It's unsurprisingly bare and lacking anything to make it a genuine home. All the little bit of furniture in the place is covered in plastic, and one recliner has smudges of blood on the arm in the shape of Dean's fingers. The kitchen has no cooking utensils, just a wide variety of ridiculously sharp knives. The fridge doesn't hold anything edible, but there's an abundance of expensive whiskey and cheap beer. 

 

His bedroom seems to be seperate from the rest of the house; it's setup is entirely different from everything else. Dean seemed to have splurged on his own space, apparently unafraid to leave traces of himself in the room he clearly lives in. 

 

Cas notices the bed first. It has to be king size, if not bigger, but what's more impressive is that it's suspended in the air by steel cables. The pillows on it are fluffy and long, seemingly taking over half the bed. While no TV resides in the living room, there's a rather large flat-screen perched on the wall across from the bed. The carpet underneath his shoes is thick and soft, and the walls match the bedsheets. 

 

Everything about the room screams…  _ extra. _

 

Cas can't help but be intrigued by the bed, and he paces close to it, nudging it lightly with his knee. It swings gently back and forth through the air before settling. He imagines Dean lying on it, mindlessly using his foot to swing back and forth. It's so…  _ Dean,  _ but it's also not. 

 

The faint sounds of Metatron gurgling on his own blood eventually come to a stop, and Cas waits for Dean to find him. If he were smart, he would've just ran, just walked out the house and back to the bunker. Instead, he stands at the foot of Dean's extravagant bed and thinks about how he must look when laid up against the silk sheets. 

 

“Cas?” 

 

Dean's word is soft, careful as he walks in the room, stopping behind him. Cas can't imagine why. Whatever worries Dean and makes him think he has to tread lightly… it's pointless. Cas probably should be falling apart, should be scared, but he's not; he's focused on the bed, focused on the image flashing through his mind of splayed out, naked skin, lingering before he can force it away. 

 

Dean steps up behind him slowly. “Cas? Sweetheart, are you—are you okay?” 

 

There's a heaviness within Cas, a tension that he doesn't share with the room. It's a rope, pulled taut, and he feels it start to splinter apart. It's the metaphorical distance he puts between himself and what he desires. 

 

Cas rips it in half. 

 

Whirling around, Cas closes the short space between him and Dean, folding it into nonexistence. His hands crawl up, fingers sliding into hair, tugging Dean's head close. Cas’ eyes are closed before their lips meet in the middle, his restraint long gone. 

 

And  _ fuck,  _ it's everything. 

 

Dean's hands palm at his hips, bloodied and sticky, leaving imprints in Cas’ t-shirt, but Cas doesn't care,  _ can't  _ care. All he knows is Dean's lips on his, their moans pushing against each other's tongues. 

 

It should be wrong, it  _ is,  _ but somehow, it's not. The way they fit feels perfect to Cas, and he doesn't think there is anything that could ever be wrong about this. They're seemingly meant for this, and who is Cas to deny himself the chance to finally succeed? 

 

“Cas,” Dean breathes into his lips, nose gently rubbing along the side of Cas’. 

 

“Don't stop,” Cas says, pleads,  _ needs.  _ “I don't want to think right now. Please, Dean… don't stop.” 

 

“Sweetheart, it's too soon for—” 

 

Cas shoves Dean back sharply, his eyes snapping open. Dean gapes at him, but Cas doesn't have any care to give. “I'm so tired of you deciding when I'm  _ ready  _ for something. I'm tired of you putting an expiration date on my morality. I'm tired of you denying me because,  _ supposedly,  _ it's too soon! Dean, it's quite literally now or never for me, so either join me, or I'm leaving.” 

 

Dean's eyes droop low, flicking to black, and he smirks. “Oh sweetheart, I've been waiting for this.” 

 

Without anymore hesitation, Dean stalks into Cas’ space, grabbing his cheeks and delving back into his mouth. The kiss is filthier than before, harsher even, but it fuels the fire in Cas’ veins. 

 

Actually, he genuinely feels as if he's on fire, being consumed by heat in the best way. 

 

Gasping, he realizes what's happening, moaning into Dean's mouth as his grace flares back to life within him. Dean hums, flicks his tongue, hands sliding down Cas’ face gently. The way his fingers stroke are direct opposite to how he kisses, lips gliding, teeth tugging, groans of pleasure adding a beautiful soundtrack. 

 

It's glorious, it's everything Cas wants, everything he's terrified of. 

 

Blood sticks to his neck, but Cas doesn't care. He reaches up, drags his thumbs along the sides of Dean's jaw, lightly pressing. They stand, tangled together, blood heating against their skin, and all that matters is their lips pressed together. 

 

Cas’ grace pulses within him, and he knows there will be no issues from the blood. Outside of the concern for disease, he really isn't in the mind to have Dean stop and wash his hands. 

 

With that in mind, Cas lifts his hands from Dean's cheeks, never breaking their kiss, and reaches down to fumble with Dean's belt. The moment it finally flings open, giving Cas access to the button underneath, Dean breaks away with a deep breath. 

 

Eyes slowly fading to green, he whispers, “Cas, are you sure?” 

 

Cas swallows, doesn't lie when he admits, “Yes.” 

 

It feels like falling, feels like ripping his grace out and walking into hell willingly, even despite the way his grace thrums pleasantly within him. It feels wrong, dirty, horrible, and Cas finds that it only makes the truth even more enticing. 

 

He wants; god, he  _ wants.  _

 

Dean nods once, a small acknowledgment, and that's it. 

 

Despite Cas’ lack of issues with the blood on his hands, Dean doesn't automatically go back to what they were doing. He holds up one finger, winks, and sweeps off to the bathroom. When he walks back out, he's fully naked, free of blood, and holding a washrag. Cas blinks rapidly. 

 

“Take off your clothes,” Dean tells him. 

 

Cas does, yanking the offending fabric away. He's seriously overdressed for the activity coming, and he desperately wants to get started. But Dean is slow. He carefully washes Metatron's blood away, never taking green eyes from Cas’ blue. 

 

“It's not supposed to be like this,” Cas whispers, his voice cracking in distress. 

 

It's  _ not.  _ It's supposed to be fast, hard, in the blood of some victim. It's supposed to be terrifying and inexcusably wrong. Cas wants it to be, needs it to be, because if it's not… he won't know how to stop. 

 

Dean's eyes soften, like maybe he understands what Cas thinks. “Our first time will not be wasted, Cas. We are special, this will be as well.” 

 

A lump forms in Cas’ throat, he's unable to reply, and he just lets Dean clean him off. And once that's done, Dean gently kisses him, a slow slide of lips, a sweet press of tongues, something entirely too warm and  _ safe  _ for Cas to handle. But he's powerless to it, can't do anything besides sink into the softness of the moment with a pitiful whimper. 

 

They don't say anything else, don't have to. Their bodies speak for them, fingers caressing, lips trailing over skin, eyes catching and never straying. 

 

When Dean cradles the back of his head and nips lightly at the sensitive spot behind his ear, Cas exhales and arches into his hold. His fingers move over Dean's chest, the soft pads leading a path down towards his hips. Cas doesn't realize they're moving until his knees hit the bed, stumbling back slightly as it moves beneath him. Dean just goes with it, pushing him back and continuing to kiss a path down Cas’ neck. 

 

Cas rubs the silk sheets mindlessly, mouth parted, body arching up into Dean's lips. For a moment, as Dean's tongue swipes gently over a nipple, Cas thinks this may be another dream. 

 

The thought has him terrified. He doesn't want this to be a dream, doesn't want to wake up to never having been kissed like this by Dean, doesn't want to go back to restraining himself. However, Dean's lips wrap around the head of his dick slowly, and Cas jolts in shock, eyes flying open as he realizes that this most definitely isn't a dream. 

 

Cas is too far gone to say anything, so his pleasure escapes him in puffs of air, moans, and whimpers. Dean doesn't seem to mind, just bobs his head with his eyes closed, looking as if he'd be content to do this one thing forever. Cas thinks if this is the forever Dean's been offering, he should've given in sooner. 

 

Cas would've been content to stay just as he was forever, but Dean pops off, moving up Cas’ body in a slow crawl, eyes black and his smile sharp. 

 

It should be a turn-off; it isn't. 

 

Cas’ breath escapes him in one short huff when Dean waves a bottle of lube in front of his nose, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. His mind runs in circles with confusion, with worry, with  _ desire. _ Just as he's about to say something, Dean grabs his wrist, lifts his hand, and sucks on a finger. 

 

Cas blinks, swallows thickly. 

 

Without saying anything, Dean pops the lid to the lube and pours a copious amount on two of Cas’ fingers, black eyes gleaming hungrily. 

 

And everything makes sense in Cas’ head. They're undoubtedly perfect together, they  _ will  _ fit together beautifully. Excitement bubbles within him, and he reaches up to grab Dean's shoulder with his dry hand. Once he has a firm grip, he lifts himself up, wriggling from underneath Dean to stand behind him. When Dean starts to turn around, Cas halts him with a firm hand on the back of his neck, keeping him in place. Dean goes still, elbows holding him on the bed, ass in the air. 

 

Cas does his best to be gentle as he opens him up. He's incredibly careful and slow, aches to take care of Dean, even if this is the last thing he expected to happen. Dean moans softly, rolls his hips, looks over his shoulder with a face that can't be described as anything other than  _ bliss.  _

 

It's slow, but Cas’ fingers eventually glide in and out of Dean's body without resistance. He knows there is no reason to wait any longer, knows they'll click together with ease. Still, he takes his time lathering his dick up with lube, eyeing the slope of Dean's back, trying to breath around the image of him with his ass in the air. 

 

Dean wants it to be special, intimate, and a part of Cas doesn't. He wants it to be hard and rough, something he can look back on and cringe about, a moment that correlates with the  _ wrongness  _ of the whole situation in his mind. But the part that loves Dean, that has  _ always  _ loved Dean… it has him gently grabbing Dean's hips and pushing him carefully to the side, easily maneuvering him on his back. He looks beautiful like that, legs splayed wide, scarred-skin displayed on silk sheets, black eyes wide and paradoxically gentle. 

 

Cas reaches a hand down, twining his fingers through Dean's, meeting his gaze. Carefully, he lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Dean takes a deep breath, his chest rising up, up,  _ up,  _ until Cas is fully seated within him, then he exhales softly. His lips curl into a sweet smile, black eyes fading to green. 

 

Love presses within Cas, settling in his very center, and nothing matters besides this very moment, not the world, not what's  _ wrong,  _ not how he suspects he should feel. He's not terrified; he's  _ home.  _

 

All the darkness tainting his grace shrivel and falls away, leaving him with full abilities. He is aware it won't last forever, but the power he is granted once again feels like the best thing that has ever happened to him, coming only second to this very moment where he and Dean reside. 

 

Cas is slow, gently rolling his hips back, sliding out, before he rocks back in. Dean sighs softly, body relaxing, eyes slipping closed, and just  _ takes.  _

 

As Cas moves, the bed swings for him, pulling Dean from him, untethering their bodies, before bringing him back, connecting them once again. Cas refuses to change the speed, just reaches up to grip the steel cables, feeling how they rock back and forth in his palms. The minutes tick by, soft sighs and quiet moans joining the slow creaking of the bed. 

 

It's perfect, it's inevitable, and Cas is fully aware he will  _ never  _ be the same again. 

 

Even when things should grow desperate, when it should become more heated and needy, they just let the pleasure crawl through them. It pulsates like ripples upon a lake, eventually reaching farther and farther. Cas feels it in the very tips of his fingers, feels it tingle down his spine, resonating through every inch of his body before it gradually makes its way towards his hips. 

 

As ecstasy pools low in his abdomen, Cas blindly drops a hand from the steel cable and carefully swipes a hand down Dean's dick. He keeps the pace, matching it to the speed that their bodies fall apart and come back together. Tension builds between them, short gasps and low groans growing slightly in volume. 

 

Even their orgasms are gentle. Dean is first, his breath escaping him in one short exhale, body arching off the bed as he finds his release. Mere moments after, Cas pulls out, shuffles back a step, and comes with a low moan. 

 

They ride out their orgasms together, falling apart beautifully, so intertwined, yet not even touching. Cas feels connected to Dean, feels their bond grow strong with every second that passes. He's not sure what else he's supposed to do besides float along the waves of pleasure and comfort that Dean offers. 

 

And it's how things are always going to be, isn't it? 

 

Cas was always going to give in, he knows this. He was always going to toddle after Dean, stepping off any cliff Dean did, whether he had the wings to fly or not. Dean makes flying seem less like a necessity, like that's possible for an angel of all things. 

 

His dick softens, he stares at the floor, heart aching in his chest. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. He was supposed to put up a fight, was supposed to choose not to give into his desires. He was supposed to do the right thing, was supposed to make a choice for the better of others for once. 

 

Cas aches to cry, but his eyes only itch with the unshed tears his body won't produce. His grace is steady and lively within him, a constant reminder of what he's just done. 

 

Pure love, that's what Metatron had said. 

 

Cas is certainly capable of it, has been practicing it for years. But Dean? He's not supposed to be able to do it, not supposed to love Cas in such a pure way. Yet, he  _ does.  _ He does, and Cas thinks that's why he's mourning what should have been. 

 

Simply put, Cas should have  _ never  _ been given this opportunity, but Dean defies all the odds… yet again. So Cas is here now, in  _ this,  _ trading what should have been in for what could be. 

 

He wants, and he's allowed to have it. 

 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, carefully sitting up in the bed, reaching out a hand. 

 

Cas starts to flinch back, but his body doesn't seem to get the memo. Instead, he presses closer, walking into the embrace Dean offers. He doesn't cry—can't—but he does sag against Dean and take in deep breaths of air. 

 

“I love you,” Cas whispers, because he has never been able to stop, will never know how. 

 

Dean tilts his head back, looks up at Cas with wide eyes. “Sweetheart, you know I love you, right? I have loved you for a very long time.” 

 

Cas nods weakly. “I know.” 

 

“You have to make a choice,” Dean tells him. 

 

“I already have,” Cas croaks, eyes falling shut. 

 

“Cas,” Dean croons, standing up and wrapping Cas into a firm hug, “this isn't the end; it's the  _ beginning. _ ”

 

Cas breathes into Dean's shoulder shakily, chest throbbing. He knows what this is, what he's done, what his choice will bring.

 

He  _ should  _ care, but he doesn't, and that's why he feels so much pain. Everything Cas should be feeling, doing, and deciding, he just isn't; instead, he takes what he's offered, relishes in his most selfish desires, and hopes that he's still a good person. 

 

Cas doesn't think it was ever a choice. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY MY FRIENDS, HERE'S WHERE IT GETS HEAVY. 
> 
> No, seriously. There is minor character death, description of the murder, blood mentions, minor description of a body after death. Mostly, the weight of this chapter is the emotional toll it has on the characters. 
> 
> What I'm saying is, just tread lightly please. Be safe, take care of yourselves, and if, for whatever reason, you don't want to read but wish to know what happens, drop me a comment and I will leave a way for you to contact me. 
> 
> With that being said, ENJOY 😏❤

“Sam is really concerned about you, dude.”

 

Cas takes his phone from Dean's hands, rolls down the window, and tosses it. “I'm sure he is.”

 

“Cas,” Dean snorts, reaching across the middle console to smack him lightly on the arm, “you're such a fucking drama queen.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Cas stares out the window. It's bleak out, grey skies fading to black as night slowly takes over. Dean doesn't have the car's headlights on, not exactly needing them to see. Even if he did, the car is old and the lights are most likely dim.

 

Cas doesn't know where they're going, doesn't exactly care. But curiosity plucks at him, so he turns to focus on Dean. “Where are we going?”

 

“I'm taking you to your very first—and only—test.”

 

“Test?”

 

Dean nods, shoots an apologetic look at Cas. “Sorry, sweetheart, after last time… I'm not fully sure if you're all the way in this.”

 

“After last night, you still have doubts?” Cas asks, eyebrows jolting up.

 

“Well, not doubts exactly. I just want to get this show on the road, want to push your limits, get a look into our future. Gotta start somewhere.”

 

“And if I _fail_ this test?”

 

Dean is quiet for a moment, throat bobbing in the dim light of the car. “After last night, if you fail, I will leave, and I'll stay gone for a very long time. There will be periodic visits to keep us alive, but… I am willing to wait forever if that's how long it takes for you to be ready.”

 

Cas doesn't say anything for a few moments. His mind runs rampant with concerns, ideas of what this _test_ may be. Dean's suggestion of distance leaves him with a rock in his gut, and he knows failure is not an option. He's made his choice, if it was even a choice at all, and he knows there is no going back.

 

So he doesn't argue, doesn't complain, doesn't fight, just whispers, “Okay.”

 

And that's all that's said about it.

 

They don't speak, but Dean reaches over with his free hand and intertwines their fingers together. Cas grips tightly, seeming to hang on desperately, and he hopes that they never stop driving.

 

His hopes are squashed when they pull onto gravel not even three hours later. There's a line of trees and a very small path for them to drive down, but as they break past, a small warehouse comes into view. Dean takes them as close to the front as he can before parking, yanking the keys out and dropping Cas’ hand.

 

“You ready?” Dean murmurs.

 

“No,” Cas chokes out, his heart racing in his chest.

 

Dean leans across the seat, reaching up to tug Cas’ face towards his. “Hey,” he whispers softly, “it's going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

 

Cas swallows around the lump in his throat, leans forward to press his forehead against Dean's. “I'm scared. Dean, I'm so scared.”

 

“Shh,” Dean breathes.

 

Their lips meet tenderly in the middle, a whimper passing Cas’ throat. He is scared, terrified, in fact. He's well aware that when he walks back out of the warehouse, his choice will be solidified. He can't just make love to Dean, throw his phone away to ignore Sam, no, he knows his choice will be officially made with blood on his hands.

 

He's still going to decide.

 

Cas settles his nerves, dropping his head down to break their kiss, taking a deep breath. Giving a nod, he pushes back from Dean and forces himself from the car. Fresh air assaults his face, but his rejuvenated grace makes sure he doesn't get cold. Once Dean walks over to stand beside him, they make their way inside the building.

 

Everything about the warehouse is dull. Piles of metal sit off to the side, dirt covers the floor, and rusted machines line-up in rows across the room. There is a faint light at the back of the warehouse, and Dean takes his hand to lead him towards it.

 

They step out of the row of machinery, and Cas immediately sees the low-hanging lightbulb in the middle of the room. It hangs by one cord and flickers every other second. But the lightbulb does it's job of revealing the woman tied to the chair underneath.

 

Cas goes very still.

 

_Daphne._

 

His heart tumbles through his chest, falling to the pit of his stomach. He sucks in a sharp inhale, throat going dry, and stares at her slumping figure. Dean stands shoulder to shoulder with him, the fabric of their clothes just barely brushing. Gently, Dean reaches out and grabs his elbow in a show of comfort, a steady hold that may very well be the thing that is keeping him upright.

 

“You can leave,” Dean murmurs.

 

Cas swallows. “If I do?”

 

“I'll let her go. You'll take her home, keep her safe. Eventually, I will see you again, but not for very long. When she dies of old age, or in some tragic accident, we will try this again.”

 

“If I stay?”

 

Dean drops his hand, says, “Then… she dies tonight, at your hands, and we will never part again, not unless you decide to leave me.”

 

Cas doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks at Daphne. She is either asleep or knocked out, her head sagging to the side, her chest rising and falling at a steady pace. She's _alive,_ could be for the next thirty years at least.

 

All Cas has to do is leave.

 

He has to sacrifice what he wants, giving it up after he's already gotten a taste. It's unfair, unthinkable, but so is killing Daphne.

 

“Did you love her?” Dean asks quietly.

 

Cas can barely get the words out, but he manages a very choked, “Emmanuel did.”

 

“You said she doesn't mean anything to you.”

 

“She… doesn't. She is no longer intertwined with my life; I have not thought of her in years. I'd like to say she means something to me specifically, but she doesn't. But that doesn't mean her life isn't important, doesn't mean it's okay to take a human's life _just_ because she's not in my life anymore. Dean, she is still important, her life still means something.”

 

“And therein lies the problem.”

 

Cas looks up at him, chest heavy and aching. He meets his eyes, takes a deep breath, admits, “I can't do this, Dean. I won't.”

 

Dean drops his chin for a moment, looks to the floor, and releases a sigh. “Okay, so leave. Go, and take her with you.”

 

And Cas _can._ He can wake her up, take the car, save a life. He can go back to Eileen and Sam, help them form a life together, watch as they fall further in love. He can stay clean, keep the belief that he's doing something right for once, take the choice he's been refusing to claim, and _decide._

 

But he won't get another moment with Dean for a long time, a time that he will spend withering away, power draining as his grace shrivels. He will ache for years, possibly centuries, until Daphne dies and Dean decides to come back. And one day, Sam and Eileen will die, and Cas will be alone in the world, aware that Dean is always waiting for him.

 

His mind tells him what he should do; his heart tells him what he's _going_ to do.

 

“I'm not leaving,” Cas breathes, heart thundering in his chest.

 

Dean's head snaps up, green eyes wide with hope and wonder. “You're not?”

 

“No,” Cas answers, stepping towards Daphne carefully, “I'm not. And I'm not making a choice; it's making me.”

 

“It can't be fast, Cas. You can't be merciful, not if you're planning on walking this path with me.”

 

“It's not fair, this double standard. You're careful with me, loving even, and you don't want to hurt me, but in this… you're flippant and malicious. Why can't you just choose _me,_ instead of me choosing you?”

 

Dean flinches, lips tightening in displeasure. He shakes his head, whispers, “I can't. You don't—and may never be able to—understand. I'm not meant to love, or supposed to care, but for Sam, for you… I do anyway. I've been choosing you and him since the beginning. You have to meet me halfway here.”

 

Cas is past asking Dean to let himself be cured. He's come to terms with that never happening. Dean doesn't want to be cured, doesn't want to be saved. The things he wants—Sam safe and happy, Cas by his side—he fights his nature for it. He's already done so much, he won't— _can't_ —do anymore.

 

After everything Dean has done for this world, at the expense of himself and his family, it feels unfair to Cas to ask for more. It's Cas’ turn now, his time to make big moves, his chance to take what he wants.

 

And Sam _is_ safe and happy. He and Eileen carry the softest of love between them, tending to it to make it grow, a careful process that will turn out magnificent. He won't be harmed for as long as he will live, won't ever lose his life or another girl he loves again. He won't have Dean, but he will always know that Dean is alive and safe above all else.

 

Is it wrong to want something for himself? Is it wrong to ache to leave Sam and Eileen behind? Cas isn't sure, can't pin down where it would be wrong to find happiness along with everyone else.

 

“I want to be good,” Cas whispers, eyes never leaving Daphne's face, “but I don't think I can be if I stay with you.”

 

“Sweetheart, we need each other to stay alive. We get about six months, then we start to die. If it's so _bad,_ then explain that to me?”

 

“I can't explain it.”

 

Dean hums at his side. “Your love for me, and my love for you, doesn't fit into a box of good or bad; it just _is._ Things aren't easy right now, but in fifty years, a hundred… they will be. If the worst thing you do in this world is pick love, I'd say you're doing alright. _But…_ it has to be your choice, not mine.”

 

Cas knows he's right, even when it's utterly wrong.

 

But it doesn't matter anymore. Cas is tired of it, tired of trying to follow a set of rules he's never even got a chance to read. His father won't stop him, doesn't care, heaven is in shambles, a wasteland not worth saving, and _nothing matters anymore._

 

Nothing, except Dean.

 

Cas blinks, his breath blowing from his lips in an easy exhale. It feels as if a weight has left his shoulders, and he doesn't feel bad when he asks, “How do you want me to do it?”

 

“However you wish,” Dean murmurs, walking from around him to stand behind the chair Daphne sits in, facing Cas and watching him carefully.

 

Cas nods, straightens his shoulders, and lets his angel blade fall into his palm. He mindlessly twirls it, tightening his grip when it settles. Dean hums, eyelids drooping slightly, mouth curling up in pleasure. It makes Cas feel attractive, appreciated, and he does it again, a tingle shooting through his body when Dean's eyes bleed to black.

 

Dean reaches down, lightly smacks Daphne's cheek, and wakes her up carefully. She comes around slowly, stirring awake with a frown on her face. Her eyes flutter open, tension immediately taking over her body as soon as she remembers where she is.

 

She doesn't even notice Cas, just looks up at Dean in fear. “Please, please, let me go. I'm begging you, please. I knew you once, you saved me, do you remember? Please, just let me go.”

 

“Oh,” Dean chuckles, uses a hand to push Daphne's head up, leaning down to line his face up directly beside hers so they both can look at Cas, “it's not _me_ you need to be pleading with.”

 

Her mouth falls open, eyes going wide, and relief wrongfully takes over her expression. “Emmanuel, oh my god. Thank you, Jesus, thank you, _thank you._ Please, help me.”

 

“My name is Castiel,” Cas murmurs, walking closer slowly, twirling his blade yet again.

 

Dean stands to full height, black eyes tracking every move Cas makes gleefully. The way Dean watches him, hooded-eyes, licking his lips, breath jumping from his chest in short puffs… it makes Cas feel special, delectable, makes him feel _powerful._

 

“Emmanuel, what are you—”

 

“My name is Castiel!”

 

Daphne's mouth opens and closes dumbly for a few moments, her eyes widening in blatant disbelief. “O-okay, Castiel, do you remember me at all?”

 

Cas stops in front of her, crouching down to bounce on the balls of his feet, arms landing on his knees as he carefully fiddles with the blade with both hands. He smiles at her softly. “I remember everything.”

 

“Okay, that's—that's _good._ You can come home, we can talk about this…” Daphne whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. “Please, Em—Castiel, please just let me go.”

 

“You took very good care of Emmanuel,” Cas murmurs, tilting his head. “You meant a lot to him, but unfortunately for us both, Emmanuel was simply a facade, a life I was never going to have.”

 

“That's not true,” Daphne says quickly, her breathing picking up as she shrunk down in the chair, eyes wide and throat bobbing. “We can go home, go back to the way it was. Please, just—”

 

“No,” Cas cuts her off sharply.

 

She snaps her mouth shut firmly, breath escaping through her nose audibly. It pulls at Cas’ heart, makes him want to set her free. She's a good person, has a good soul, and she certainly doesn't deserve this. But he looks up, catches the blissed out expression on Dean's face, and his reservations evaporate like smoke.

 

It's one cut, just one. Simple, quick, _sharp._ The blade drags across her throat, splitting a line that blood bubbles out of immediately. Cas doesn't even remember snapping his hand out to create it, but he watches the blood leak out at a slow pace in awe.

 

Daphne squirms, a scream ripping from her throat, gurgling around the wound. She starts talking swiftly, words stuttering and broken. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of—of death, I will fear no evil... for you are with me; your rod and your staff… they comfort me.”

 

Dean lets out a low moan of pleasure, moving over to sink down beside Cas, watching Daphne slowly bleed out in open joy. Cas takes a deep breath, heart racing, mouth dry, eyes wide. It's undeniably _thrilling,_ and he feels powerful and loved.

 

It's addicting, this feeling, and he holds the blade out, shoving it forward into her stomach before yanking it out. Daphne screams loudly, obviously in agony, and Cas swears he can feel every inch of her pain. It's wild, unbearable, and impossible to _stop._

 

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows,” Daphne gasps out when her screams splinter off, the words flowing from her faster and faster.

 

Dean presses into Cas’ side, holds him close, panting into his neck. Cas watches her blankly, abruptly feeling numb, and it's absolutely nothing to crawl closer to her, hover his face over hers. Dean moves with him, clinging as they draw in closer.

 

“God will not save you,” Cas tells her, meeting her terrified gaze. “Heaven is no longer home.”

 

His words seem to do more damage than the angel blade had. She bows into herself, soft words falling from her lips like the prayer they are. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the—”

 

Something twinges in Cas’ chest, and before he knows what he's doing, he shoves his hand out, driving the blade right into her throat. Her words are cut off abruptly, and mere moments after, the life leaves her eyes.

 

Just like that… she's dead.

 

Cas drops his hand from the blade, sinking back to fall on his ass with a dull thump. Dean moves with him fluidly, curling into his side, kissing lightly at the line of his throat. Cas barely feels it, only able to focus on the empty shell that used to be Daphne.

 

“And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” Cas finishes for her, words scraping from his throat.

 

It hits him then what he's just done. Blood stains Daphne's body from the wounds Cas inflicted, and she stays still in the chair, pale and breathless, undoubtedly dead.

 

“Sweetheart, are you—”

 

Cas shoves Dean off, heart constricting in his chest. It hurts to breathe, hurts to _live._ He scrambles away from Dean, crawling up towards Daphne's lifeless body, stares into her vacant eyes. His eyes prick with the tears that just won't form, his chest feels too tight, everything _hurts._

 

“Oh god, oh _god,_ ” Cas chokes out, reaching trembling hands up to cradle her face.

 

“Cas,” Dean says carefully, getting up on his knees and sliding closer.

 

He reaches out to touch Daphne, but Cas viciously pushes him back, forcing him on his ass. “Don't touch her, don't you fucking _dare!_ ”

 

Dean looks guilty, looks like he never knew what regret truly meant until this very moment. He reaches up with both hands, pressing them over his mouth, staring at Cas with watery green eyes. Cas can't stand to look at him, so he turns back to Daphne, aching for just the faintest spark of life.

 

She's gone.

 

“I have to bury her,” Cas croaks, moving back and shooting to his feet, his whole body shaking. “She deserves a grave. From dust to dust; she needs to—Dean, _I have to bury her!_ ”

 

He doesn't wait for Dean to offer a solution, he just turns on his heels and rushes outside. He's not thinking, but his mind rushes with far too many thoughts for him to cling to. He's panting, winded from nothing, air barely pressing into his lungs.

 

As soon as his shoes hits dirt at the side of the warehouse, Cas drops to his knees. It's damp, clean earth, and it smells like healthy soil. Without hesitation, he digs his hands into the ground and starts flinging handfuls away. Dirt cakes under his fingernails, his eyes burn, and he's fairly sure he's no longer breathing.

 

It's mindless, just a constant motion of uprooting the soil, shoving it away. In mere moments, there's an outline of a hole that Daphne will fit in. His body should ache, his arms should be on fire, he should be fucking _sobbing,_ but his grace—his love—beats solid and sure within him. Even going without oxygen has no effect, but there is a punishing throb setting up shop around his heart, though he's sure that comes from the emotional toll more than anything.

 

A hand lands on his shoulder, but Cas doesn't care, won't even stop long enough to be angry at Dean. He just makes the hole deeper, dirt flying far and wide, getting in his mouth, in his shirt, on his face.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, crouching down beside him, words soft and tender. “Cas, sweetheart, you need to stop. You need to listen to me.”

 

“No, no, _no,_ no stopping!” Cas yells, tossing more dirt for emphasis. “She needs a grave, needs to be buried.”

 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean tries again, concern lacing his tone, “you can't do this to yourself. Listen to me—”

 

“No! _No._ I am burying her.”

 

Dean's hand slides from his shoulder and he heaves a long breath. “I'll go get her.”

 

“Don't touch her, Dean, I'm _serious._ I have to do this. I have to finish what I started,” Cas hisses, never stopping his digging. “I—I have to do the right thing.”

 

Maybe Dean understands, maybe he doesn't, but either way, he does as Cas says. He moves on the other side of the ever-growing grave, sitting down in the dirt, watching Cas work with sad eyes.

 

Cas ignores his gaze, puts all his energy into making the hole deep enough. He works so hard and so fast that he doesn't even have time to think. By the time he's finished, he still hasn't taken in one proper breath or managed to get the stinging of his eyes to stop. But it doesn't matter.

 

He ignores all his discomfort, his panic, his utter _pain,_ and races inside to get Daphne.

 

Cas stops short in front of her body. She's still very much dead, and he remembers how her flesh gave into the blade so easily, how he'd ridden on the high that was taking her life, how it had ripped him in half, giving him peak pleasure and unstoppable agony all at once.

 

“I'm so sorry,” he gasps out.

 

But she doesn't hear, won't ever hear anything else ever again. He realizes that the words are meaningless, that he never said them when he should've. Apologies mean nothing to the dead.

 

His fingers tremble as he reaches out for her body, shaking through the air as if afraid to make contact. He removes the angel blade with a squelch, letting it clatter to the floor, forgotten. Daphne's body is already in rigor mortis, clenched up and immovable, so he cradles her stiff body carefully, hating the way her bones were already curling in on themselves.

 

He walks her to the grave, refuses to meets Dean's eyes, and kneels down beside the hole. Gently, he sits her on the ground, careful not to upset any limbs. He stares at her for a moment, takes in the pained expression that she will forever be stuck with because of him, eyes her pale skin, gazes right into her dead eyes.

 

“You should burn her,” Dean says softly, the words careful like walking on eggshells.

 

Cas doesn't look at him when he flatly replies, “There is no need; she resides in heaven.”

 

“But you said—”

 

“I know what I _said._ Her soul will be granted immediate access regardless.”

 

Dean's swallow clicks audibly. “Okay.”

 

With that, Cas drags himself back from the shallow grave, settling himself by the large pile of dirt. It takes him a long time to start pushing the dirt back in, but when he does, he feels like screaming. His grace should be leaving him, should've curled up and dissolved the moment he committed such an unspeakable act, yet it pulses bright and proud within him.

 

He chokes around a dry sob, aching to just _cry,_ needing some sort of release, but his body refuses to fold under the power of his grace. So instead, he hyperventilates as the dirt slowly covers her body. Soon, the dirt covers every inch, and there is nothing left to do but pat it down tight.

 

He's dirty, aching, and broken, but it's _done._

 

Cas sits back, bows his head, and doesn't move for a very long time.

 

He thinks about how he enjoyed and hated every second of murdering Daphne, how it had been _his_ choice, how stupidly easy it had been to be so utterly selfish. Most of all, he thinks about how strong his love for Dean Winchester is.

 

Cas can't blame Dean, can't force his own decisions on him. He'd had an opportunity do the right thing, and he _had,_ but it was the right thing for himself, not for Daphne. That's not Dean's fault, it's his own. But none of that makes it any easier.

 

“I understand if you hate me,” Dean speaks up eventually, sounds sad and blatantly hurt.

 

Cas finally lifts his head, meets Dean's gaze and holds it. “I will _never_ do this again.”

 

Dean nods once. “I will never ask you to do something like this, not again.”

 

“We will never speak of this again, and in fact, I will never _think_ of this again,” Cas states strongly.

 

It's a lie, they both know this will forever haunt Cas, but Dean has the decency to nod his head. “Okay. And Cas… if you want to leave… I understand.”

 

“Dean, I'm not leaving,” Cas whispers seriously, watching Dean's face crumble into undeniable relief and hope. “I will not murder like this again, not so violently. There are other things we may compromise on, but not this. I've made my choice; I stick by it.”

 

“Have you truly decided?” Dean asks hopefully, green eyes wide and ridiculously innocent.

 

Cas thinks about what he's done, what he's leaving behind, what he _needs,_ and he realizes it's the truth when he says, “I haven't decided anything; it's never been a choice.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cas leaves a letter for Sam at the bunker door. 

 

It contains one word. 

 

**Sorry.**

 

Dean says, “How do you feel about Paris?” 

 

Cas grabs his hand, replies, “Anywhere is fine, as long as I'm with you.” 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, soooo... Things have changed.

_October, 2023_

  


New York is beautiful in the dark of the night. Nothing like the midwest, dipped in a sharp plunge of darkness and stillness where lurking monsters find their home. New York is _lovely,_ bright lights thrumming and keeping the city pulsating with life.

 

At the top of the Chrysler building, everything looks so insignificant. Dots of lights dancing behind buildings, drifts of drunken laughter, the distant sound of honking horns, and rattling trains just after midnight make their way to Cas’ senses faintly. He watches, waits for it to come to a stop, but it never gives up, just transitions into the dull day-to-day life in a city by the time the sun decides to wake up the sky.

 

His legs dangle over the edge of the ledge he's perched on, his clean, black shoes looking larger than the cars lining the streets.

 

Cas considers jumping.

 

It won't kill him, but it will hurt. For the few moments of the free-fall, that drop through the air, it will feel like making the right decision. It's no escape—he doesn't want to do that—it's a taste of freedom, just a tease of what he would do if he was a different person.

 

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, a warning in his tone.

 

Dean is warm at Cas’ side, steady and solid. Cas closes his eyes, succumbing to his own desires, and leans into Dean's body. He wraps an arm loosely around Cas’ waist, giving a gentle squeeze. Cas appreciates it.

 

Dean's phone rings suddenly, echoing into the silence. Sighing, Dean answers with a sharp, “Speak.”

 

Cas assumes whoever called does as Dean ordered. There's a small voice leaking through the line, and Cas doesn't try to listen, doesn't care to hear what they're saying. He just leans into Dean, enjoys the strength from his body until he snaps the phone closed harshly.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, not even opening his eyes.

 

Dean hums lightly. “We have to leave.”

 

“Okay,” Cas says, nods carefully against Dean's shoulder, “where?”

 

“A hospital in Chicago,” Dean replies.

 

Cas doesn't say anything, doesn't ask questions, doesn't care to know. He just settles against Dean, waits. Dean will tell him when he wants, or he won't if he doesn't. It doesn't matter.

 

Abruptly, Dean's arm tightens around him, and Cas’ feels his body tip forward. He doesn't fight, just breathes easy as they fall over the edge. Cas finally opens his eyes, the air in his lungs escaping him to join the air whipping around him. His trenchcoat whips audibly as they descend, and Dean's bright green eyes dance as he smiles. Cas smiles in return.

 

Leave it to Dean to know him, to give him exactly what he needs. Falling is the most indulgence—to the person he used to be—he's had in at least half a decade. Dean wraps him in his arms, holds him close, lets them tumble to freedom together. The ground rushes up to meet them, Dean winks, and just before they hit the ground, they disappear with the distinct sound of flapping wings.

 

They appear outside the largest hospital in Chicago, blinking at the luminescent sign brightening the sky. It's dark here too, just an hour earlier than New York. Cas looks to Dean, waits to see if he guessed the right hospital.

 

Dean just takes his hand, leads him inside, and Cas warms at the unspoken praise.

 

They walk to the front desk, smile at the receptionist, and Dean says, “3rd floor, please?”

 

She doesn't question them, probably assumes they have been here before. With a wave of permission, Dean leads them to the elevator. They ride up in silence, hands intertwined, and Cas feels curiosity curl within him for the first time in a very long time. He's curious, questions perch on his lips, but he ignores it and waits.

 

He'll find out soon enough.

 

The third floor is quiet, but there is another desk that few more people move around at, clicking away at their keyboards, not paying attention. Dean walks them up to desk, waits patiently for the man there to look up.

 

“Can I help you?” he asks slowly, eyebrows raised.

 

“Sam Winchester's room number, please?” Dean asks politely, words patient.

 

Cas blinks rapidly, a frisson of alarm shooting up his spine. He hasn't thought of Sam in years, in nearly a decade. Something that feels vaguely of guilt, of regret, settles hot and sharp in his chest.

 

The man frowns, but says, “364. Are you family?”

 

“Yes,” Dean answers and pulls Cas away, leading them down the hall towards the room.

 

The door to 364 is cracked, but the lights are on. There is a faint _beep_ coming from the room, a calming loop of Sam's steady heartbeat. Dean looks at Cas, smiles, and pushes his way inside.

 

First thing Cas notices is the small child in the room, curled up on the couch and fast asleep. He looks like Dean with his delicate features, but the mouth and nose are all Sam. The longer Cas stares, the more he sees Eileen, and he even sees some of Mary Winchester in the young boy.

 

“Sammy,” Dean whispers.

 

Cas looks over at Sam, meets his eyes. Sam is sitting up straight, his fists clenched in the covers, and he looks terrified. His eyes dart back and forth from his son to Dean, trying to figure out what route he should take.

 

It's been nearly ten years.

 

A small stab of sadness throbs in Cas’ chest. Sam looks mostly the same, a few extra gray hairs, more wrinkles than before, a bit skinnier, but he's still _Sam._ Cas realizes that he misses him, misses his friend.

 

“Dean,” Sam greets, his voice quiet and breaking around the crackle in his lungs. His eyes turn ever so slowly to Cas, the instant flash of betrayal making itself known, and he bitterly says, “Cas.”

 

“Hello, Sam,” Cas murmurs, smiles, _aches._

 

“What did you get yourself into now, Sam? Why did you end up in the hospital?” Dean asks, swinging his and Cas’ hands like a small child would, rocking on his feet and smiling.

 

“How did you know where I was?” Sam hisses, eyes crawling back to his son. His heartbeat is slowly increasing, a sign of fear.

 

Dean snorts, “I always know where you are. Now, answer the question.”

 

Sam's face crumbles, eyes widening, panic taking over. Cas drops Dean's hand, walks closer to Sam to reassure him, but doesn't get very far. Sam wrenches back, his heart monitor spiking, and tries to crawl up the bed, _away from Cas._

 

Cas freezes, muscles locking into place.

 

“You don't need to fear me, Sam,” Cas whispers, hurt and sad and overall _angry._ Sam shouldn't fear him, shouldn't have to; it's not fair.

 

“Don't touch me,” Sam spits, nostrils flaring wide.

 

There's something in his words, something more than he gives Dean when he speaks to him. It's bitter and poignant, lacing his tongue with poison when he speaks to Cas. It's obvious when he's speaking to Dean that he's resigned, that he thinks Dean's bad but that's not _Dean's_ fault.

 

Cas, on the other hand…

 

Right, he chose this. Of course, he was something greater to fear. Dean didn't walk into this with clarity, but Cas _did._

 

Cas forgets that sometimes.

 

“Sam, don't be a dick,” Dean huffs, rolls his eyes like Cas’ world isn't shattering.

 

Sam's mouth pinches together, little lines forming in the corners. He doesn't deny it, he doesn't agree to stop, and Cas doesn't blame him.

 

“What do you _want?_ ” he snaps, turning his narrowed eyes to Dean.

 

“What happened?” Dean repeats.

 

“I got cancer is what fucking happened,” Sam says sharply, mouth twisting in a smile that resembles a snarl more than anything. “Isn't that _hilarious?_ The great Sam Winchester taken out by, get this, cancer. Not his demonic brother, not his traitorous angel best friend, not a ghost, or vamp, or even a werewolf, _oh no,_ fucking cancer. That's what happened, Dean.”

 

The room dips into silence, goes still and hangs on the edge of something. Cas feels the shock course through him, feels the disbelief brush past his lips in a soft exhale. Dean frowns, eyes Sam like the mere idea is impossible. Sam just looks angry, like of all things to be defeated by, _cancer_ is just disrespectful.

 

“How long?” Dean asks softly.

 

Sam's eyebrows jump up. “Excuse me? How long, _what?_ How long have I had it? I don't know. Just started getting sick and Eileen forced me to go to the hospital when it got really bad. How long do I got left? The doc said a year, maybe, at most. How long have I known? _Three hours._ ”

 

Ah, no wonder he’s so angry. He has a young child who he can't be there for, a wife he's leaving behind, a brother he still hasn't cured. Cas pities him immediately, a sharp slice of pure _unfairness_ filling him to the brim. Sam doesn't deserve this.

 

“Where's Eileen?” Cas blurts, confused, frowning around the room empty of a wife.

 

“She had to… go get some air,” Sam murmurs, looks down, and swallows hard. Naturally, she didn't take the news well.

 

“Who's that?” Dean asks, gesturing to the child behind him, never looking at him.

 

“None of your fucking business,” Sam growls, head snapping up, danger glinting on his eyes.

 

Cas sighs quietly, shoots Dean a look. “He's your nephew, Dean.”

 

“Hmm,” Dean says, doesn't look surprised, doesn't look interested, doesn't seem to care.

 

“Just get out,” Sam mutters, exhaustion tugging at him as he settles back against the pillows, stress making him tired. “Just go away, go back to doing whatever y'all were doing. Just—just leave me and my family alone.”

 

“There was a time you would have sold your soul to be alone in a room with me,” Dean laughs, smirking in amusement. “What happened to that, Sammy? You gave up, finally realized you lost, understood that I was right all along.”

 

“I tried,” Sam admits with a frown. “I prayed, I searched for you—for both of you—and for what? I couldn't find _anything._ Y'all were just gone, for years. I heard whispers, sightings, _murders._ But it was all over, in Paris, in Egypt, in Canada. I couldn't… I couldn't save you, either of you.”

 

“You knew this would happen,” Dean says gently, walking forward to grip the bottom of the hospital bed, watching Sam with genuinely soft features, apologizing for nothing.

 

“No,” Sam sighs, defeated, “I _didn't._ I thought—well, I thought we'd win. I figured we'd catch up to you one day, even if it took my very last breath, and if not before I died, I assumed Cas would get you one day. I just… never planned on him switching sides. I never thought—well, I _did,_ but I had faith in him anyway. I was wrong.”

 

Sam looks at Cas, disappointment and pain clear in his features. Cas feels Sam's words like a whip to his grace, reminding him what would've happened if he didn't need power, didn't need _Dean._ It hurts like a wrongful accusation, but it's _not_ wrong; it's true, and that's what hurts the most. Cas clenches his fists, gulps around the lump in his throat, tries to breathe.

 

“I'm sorry,” Cas says. He is, but he isn't.

 

“How could you do it?” Sam asks, morbidly curious in the way someone asks something out of disgust. “How can you stay with him, help him _murder,_ help him be… like,” he waves a hand at Dean, “ _this?_ Cas… why?”

 

Cas skips his eyes over to Dean, catching his eyes. Dean smiles at him, wide and happy. He wants to know too, wants Cas to say it, wants Sam to _suffer._ Cas won't lie, won't save Sam the pain. He deserves to know.

 

“I love him,” Cas whispers, refuses to be ashamed by the words. “Sam, I've _always_ loved him, and I always will, no matter what he is. He's still Dean, my Dean. My grace lives within him, pure and good. It's the only thing that keeps me tethered to being an angel. The grace within myself has festered. It's impure and mangled, tarnished by Dean's condition. The darkness within him affected my grace that's _in_ him, but that grace was so strong paired with him that it forced the impurity to my grace within me. It's why it rejected me so long ago, but the grace within _him…_ is strong and still claims him.”

 

Cas gives a small, tired smile. “Regardless of my grace making the choice _for_ me, I would've chose him either way. I always choose him, Sam, you _know_ that. You knew it then, you know it now. Even back then, you had your doubts, and no, you didn't have faith, Sam… you always knew.”

 

Dean looks positively delighted, green eyes bright and joyous. His lips tremble around a grin, fingers reaching out to touch Cas. Dean loves that story, loves those words.

 

Sam? Not so much.

 

Sam swallows thickly, wipes at his eyes. Cas grips Dean's hand, eyes Sam with a soft gaze. Sam just stares at him, pain and guilt in his face, looks absolutely _destroyed_ by this.

 

“I hoped that I was enough,” Sam croaks, tears gathering in his eyes.

 

“You were, you _are,_ Sam. You have been and always will be enough, more than enough,” Cas assures him gently, breaking from Dean to draw close to Sam. He reaches out slowly, letting his hand settle on Sam's. “You're my best friend, Sam Winchester. I will always love you and be grateful for you. You're a hero, and you deserve true happiness. And I _am_ sorry.”

 

He means it this time, fully.

 

“I couldn't save you,” Sam chokes, tears breaking from his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks as he bows his head, “I couldn't save either of you.”

 

Cas leans down and reaches out, draws Sam's head into his shoulder, holds him. Sam weeps, Cas whispers, “Shh, Sam, it's okay. It's not your fault, you did everything you could. But you can't save people who don't want to be saved.”

 

“I hate you,” Sam mutters, words pressing into Cas’ shoulder open-mouthed and wet. “I hate you and him. I hate _everything._ ”

 

“No,” Cas whispers softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Sam's temple, “you don't.”

 

“Cas,” Dean calls softly, and Cas shoots him a glance, and he smiles, says, “heal him.”

 

Immediately, Cas does.

 

Sam shoves him off with, “No!”

 

“It's too late,” Cas says, backs off with his hands up, smiles indulgently.

 

“Why?” Sam groans, gapes at them with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Why would you do this to me?”

 

“Sammy, you can't honestly believe I'm going to let you die so soon,” Dean chuckles, shakes his head, and grabs Cas’ hand, draws him close. Cas smiles at him, feels happy. “You have too many more years ahead of you to live like this. You get at least another forty years of feeling like a failure, of struggling with knowing that two of the people you trusted the most are out destroying the world you've sworn to protect.”

 

Sam stares at them, wide eyes horrified. He lifts a hand and covers his mouth to shield a sob. Cas just waves a hand, focuses on the positive.

 

“You will see your son grow, Sam,” he reminds. “You will have more years with Eileen. You will continue to live.”

 

“Maybe…” Dean says, winks at Sam.

 

“Maybe,” Cas agrees, because he doesn't know the future.

 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Dean hums, tugs on Cas’ hand, “let's blow this popsicle stand.”

 

The door peels open and Eileen walks in, eyes red and puffy. She stops short as she sees them, fear immediately gripping her. Sam stares at them in blatant horror, shock and despair falling from him in waves. Dean winks at Eileen playfully, and with that, they disappear with the sound of wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you're curious, yes this is eight years after Cas went with Dean. The kid is five/sixish - you'll see him later. 
> 
> Yes, this seems odd, I'm sure, but I promise you... I got this. (I think.) 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, we're almost at the end now everyone! So close. I'd love to see feedback on how you think the story is going! See y'all Saturday ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit on the shorter side, so I might post the next one sooner rather than later. Let me know what ya think! 
> 
> This one's just a sweet, little thing.

_ February, 2024 _

 

Cas doesn't stumble when he lands in the backyard of the house at the end of the street. It's a modest home, the backyard is fenced in, and the back porch has a screen. A sandbox sits right behind the front porch in direct sight of the window and backdoor.

 

Cas felt out of place posing as a FBI agent again, but all it took was finding the right nosy, older woman to tell him exactly what he needed to know. This house is the residence of Maura and Jim Leahy, as well as their son Robert Leahy.

 

Also known as Eileen and Sam Winchester and their son, Robert Winchester.

 

Robert is sitting in the middle of the sandbox, staring at Cas with wide eyes filled with awe. Cas just smiles, gives a short wave, and waits. Robert scrambles from his spot, dropping his small plastic shovel. Cas waits for him to draw close, staring up at him in shock.

 

“Hello,” Cas says quietly, “what's your name?”

 

“Robert Ross, but everyone calls me Robby,” Robert— _Robby_ —says. “Who are you? Where did you come from? I saw you just appear here!”

 

“I'm an angel,” Cas says, stoops low to get on eye-level, and smiles. “Have you ever met an angel before?”

 

“No,” Robby mutters, eyebrows drawing together in suspicion, making him look like Sam, “they don't exist. How are you an angel? Prove it!”

 

“Well, I just showed up here, didn't I?”

 

Robby shrugs, like he can't beat that logic. “So angels are real?”

 

“Yes,” Cas answers, reaches out to let Robby shake his hand.

 

Robby shakes it, smiles sweetly, looks like Dean for a split second. “Are you my new friend?”

 

Cas’ face softens. “Yes, Robby, I am. As a friend, I'd very much like to protect you. Is that okay?”

 

“Protect me from what?” Robby asks, frowns around a bit of worry.

 

“Anything bad,” Cas replies gently.

 

“You know about the monsters in the closet? Dad says he takes care of monsters, so there is nothing to worry about, but I don't think he could hurt a fly,” Robby tells Cas seriously and rolls his eyes, looks so much like Eileen that it's funny.

 

Cas fights a smile, turns his face away for a moment, says, “Well, I can… teleport, right? So I have the power to protect you. Is that okay with you? Will you allow it?”

 

“Why?” Robby asks.

 

“Pardon?” Cas blurts, blinking in surprise.

 

Robby's nose scrunches. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Cas laughs, “nothing at all. I would like to protect you because you are a very special boy. Is that okay with you?”

 

Robby puffs his chest in pride and nods solemnly. Cas smiles reassuringly and reaches out a hand to press against Robby's forehead, sending pulses of power to the boy's core, etching protection into his very soul, retracting before the pain can even register to the small child. Robby blinks and frowns, no doubt feeling no different than before, but Cas sighs in relief.

 

“What'd you do?” Robby asks.

 

“I made sure nothing with bad intentions can get to you,” Cas says softly, glances at the back door as it starts to creak open. “Listen, Robby, I want you to take very good care of your parents, okay? Can you do that for me?”

 

Robby nods quickly, eyes wide with purpose, and Cas smiles at him before flying away. Robby's hair fluffs at his exit, and he gapes at the spot that Cas stood. Excitedly, Robby turns on the spot and dashes towards the back porch where his parents stand, holding glasses of water.

 

“Robby,” Eileen says, smiling as he stops short in front of them.

 

“Mom, dad, I just met an _angel,_ ” Robby exclaims excitedly.

 

Both glasses hit the porch and shatter.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, but trust me... Things are starting to build. Enjoy everyone. 
> 
> Slight warning for this chap: description of dead bodies, body parts...sorta??? Eh, just be safe, k?

_ May, 2036 _

  
  


Cas edges around the bodies piled and broken on the floor, kicks a stray hand away with the toe of his shoe. He doesn't look at the faces, can't. 

 

“What's up, sweetheart?” Dean asks casually, eyebrows raised high. 

 

“I'm curious,” Cas says. He refuses to be ashamed by the words, refuses to hint at exactly what he's curious about. 

 

Dean wipes his bloody hands on his navy blue apron and carefully steps over the mangled bodies, approaching Cas with a smile. Cas likes the smile, feels warm, and he returns it. 

 

“What are you curious about?” Dean asks softly, reaches out to touch Cas’ cheek, cradling it like it means everything to him. 

 

Cas swallows, treads lightly, leans into Dean's palm. “The blade.” 

 

Instantly, Dean's palm drops from Cas’ face. His smile disappears, face screwing up like he's in pain. Cas blinks slowly, doesn't react. He knows just how well this is going to go over, but he doesn't want to stop. 

 

“And why would you be curious about that old thing?” Dean huffs, wrinkling his nose. 

 

“You said, once, that you made it disappear.” 

 

“I did.” 

 

Cas nods slowly. “Where?” 

 

“Why do you want to know?” Dean murmurs, eyes Cas curiously, the edges of his green eyes growing cloudy, a promise of darkness just lingering there. 

 

“Do you trust me?” Cas whispers, a pang of hurt slicing through him. 

 

Cas hates living with people never trusting him. Heaven did not trust him before, not with Dean, not with the Apocalypse, and they turned out to be right. Sam did not trust him to do the right thing, and he turned out to be right. Dean doesn't get to not trust him, not after everything. 

 

Even if he's right too. 

 

Dean frowns, says cautiously, “Cas, I always trust you, even when I probably shouldn't.” 

 

“So,” Cas insists, swallowing thickly, “where?” 

 

“I don't want it,” Dean tells him seriously, twisting his palms together nervously. “It makes me… worse. I don't want it in my life anymore, Cas. It's gone, just forget about it.” 

 

“Dean, please,” Cas whispers, kicking more limbs out of his path and stepping close to Dean. He reaches out, presses a gentle kiss to Dean's lips, looks at him imploringly. “You know I love you. You can tell me.” 

 

Dean folds, sighs harshly, knocks his forehead against Cas’ lightly. “When I woke up, it made everything…  _ harsher.  _ I always said I was me, but I'm not when I have the blade. Putting it down, getting rid of it... was the hardest thing I have ever done. I—I can't do it again, Cas.” 

 

Cas hears the thinly veiled threat, bats it away carelessly, presses, “Where is it, Dean?” 

 

“Where my life changed,” Dean says, looks into Cas’ eyes seriously. “Where I was born.” 

 

Cas blinks, frowns, hums, “Okay.” 

 

“Why?” Dean asks carefully, pleading with him, needing consolation. 

 

Cas gives it, lies when he says, “No reason, Dean. I genuinely was just curious.” 

 

Dean doesn't relax, won't for a few years at least, but Cas knows how to wait. 

 

The waiting game starts. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical warnings for depictions of murder. 
> 
> Yes, I know this seems strange, the skipping through time, but you'll understand why I'm doing it soon enough. 
> 
> Wow, only three more chapters left. O_o

_ September, 2042 _

  
  


Of course, the woman is beautiful. Her eyes are large and blue, hair billowing artistically over her shoulder, pink lips plump and curved into a sultry smile. Dean likes her, Cas can tell. Maybe it's not  _ that  _ nefarious, but Cas’ palms itch. 

 

“Hey, there,” she says, eyes Dean from head to toe, leans provocatively over the bar.

 

“Well, hi,” Dean chuckles and smiles winningly, leaning forward on his elbows, “how are you doing tonight, sweetheart?” 

 

Cas goes still, back snapping straight as pure anger floods through his veins. She laughs softly, huskily, and Cas clenches his glass. The woman looks like him, could be his sister in another life. Cas hates her instantly. 

 

“I'm better now that you're here, handsome,” she flirts, bats her eyelashes and simpers. 

 

Cas scoffs, Dean chuckles. 

 

“I bet you are,” Dean tells her, licks his lips, looks her over in consideration. 

 

“What can I get you tonight?” she asks, smiles knowingly as Dean's grin turns wicked and sharp. 

 

Before Dean can tell her exactly what she wants to hear, a short blonde bursts from the swinging door behind the bar and yells, “Jess, go take out the fucking trash. Jesus, I've told you five different times already!” 

 

Jess wrinkles her nose, shoots a look at the blonde that could do harm. “Fine, I'm  _ coming,  _ stop yelling at me.” She turns a sweet smile to Dean and murmurs, “Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back, okay?” 

 

Dean winks at her. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

 

And  _ that.  _ That's what pushes Cas over the edge. 

 

Cas hasn't murdered more than one human in the world on purpose, and he never has the desire to. He lets Dean do whatever he wants, doesn't judge, even watches when Dean asks him to. It is always like trying to brave the ocean through a hurricane. 

 

Wild, horrifying,  _ survival.  _

 

Cas does not enjoy it, but he does. 

 

“Cas,” Dean starts, watching the bartender disappear to the back, “I was thinking—” 

 

“Excuse me for one moment,” Cas interrupts with a small smile, pushes away from the bar and walks right out the front door. 

 

Dean's eyebrows jump, but he shrugs. 

 

It's a cold night, and Cas can see smoke coming from behind the building. There's the faint sound of shoes crunching over gravel, and Cas follows it silently. His feet never quite touch the ground and poor, poor Jess never hears him come up behind her, not before it's too late. 

 

His hand covers her mouth, and she drops the trash, a scream muffled by his palm. Flailing, she tries to escape his grip, but he drags her effortlessly behind the trash can.

 

Cas shoves her against the back of the trash can, keeps her mouth covered, and meets her wide eyes. She stares up at him in terror, faint recognition lighting her face, but she goes utterly still besides her heaving chest. 

 

Cas covers his lips, looks at her seriously, whispers around his finger, “Listen to me very carefully, okay?” 

 

She nods jerkily, breathing roughly through her nose, fear obvious in her tense frame. 

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says quietly. “I'm trying to save your life.” 

 

She looks confused, eyebrows bunching together. Cas rolls his eyes. 

 

“You need to leave,  _ now.  _ You can't stay here, okay? I'm not joking. The man that I—” 

 

“Cas?” 

 

_ Shit.  _

 

Dean's boots clomp against the gravel, crackling and heading straight for them. Cas’ face crumbles, and he mouths, “I'm sorry” _ ,  _ before curling a hand around her chin. Her eyes widen, but before she can struggle, Cas wrenches her head to the side with a sickening crack. 

 

She falls limp to the ground. Dead. 

 

“Sweetheart, are you—” 

 

Dean comes to a halt, goes very quiet. Cas stares down at her body, his chest heavy and tight. He regrets her death, regrets that he liked taking her life, regrets that he could not save her. Not from Dean, not from himself. 

 

“You called her sweetheart,” Cas says, because  _ that's  _ why it felt so good to kill her. 

 

“Cas,” Dean murmurs softly, “since when do you care who I flirt with? You know who I want.” 

 

“She looked like me,” Cas whispers, feels sore, feels the lump in his throat. 

 

“No one will ever be as beautiful as you are,” Dean assures him, walks closer, reaches out to touch Cas’ elbow. 

 

Cas wrenches away, heart aching, tears caught in his eyelashes. “You  _ wanted  _ her.” 

 

“I mean,” Dean stutters, blinks in surprise, tries again, “I did, but not for… fucking. You know what I wanted her for.” 

 

“SHE LOOKED LIKE  _ ME! _ ” Cas bellows, rage clouding his thoughts, chest heaving in anger. 

 

Dean gapes at him in shock, manages a very strangled, “ _ Oh. _ ” 

 

Cas settles, takes a deep breath, and clears his throat. He looks straight at Dean, challenges him without fear. “Kill me. Just do it, if that's what you truly want, Dean.” 

 

“Jesus _fuck,_ I don't want to kill you, Cas,” Dean blurts out, astonished, moving forward to wrap him in a hug. “C'mere. How could you think that? I just… you know. You know exactly what I am, what I do. You—you love me for that, despite that. I don't ever want to lose you, and I definitely don't want to kill you.” 

 

“I'm scared,” Cas admits. 

 

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to be afraid of, not from me, not from anybody,” Dean swears, pulling back to look at Cas seriously, “okay?” 

 

“I'm scared of you,” Cas whispers, blinks the tears from his eyes, watches Dean's face go slack in shock. “I'm scared of  _ me.  _ I'm scared of what you do, of what you are. I'm scared that I will always be scared.” 

 

“Cas,” Dean tries again, his voice trembling, the word shaky, a plea. 

 

Cas takes a few steps back, chokes out, “I—I can't do this right now. I need to be away for a little while. Just—just… let me go.” 

 

“How long is a little while?” Dean whispers, shifting anxiously. 

 

“I don't know!” Cas explodes, fists clenching, eyes pinned on Dean with heat. 

 

Dean holds up his hands in surrender, swallows thickly, croaks, “Okay, Cas. Just come home soon, okay? I love you. I'll wait.” 

 

Cas takes a deep breath, calms slightly. Wrinkling his nose, he nudges Jess’ body with his shoe. “Take care of that.” 

 

Dean nods. “Of course, sweetheart, anything you—” 

 

But Cas is gone. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer and closer...

_ January, 2043 _

  
  


Cas never tires of watching Sam. 

 

He lives his life like it's a normal one, kisses his wife before work, ruffles his son's hair, drives an electrically advanced car, has friends. Mostly, Sam looks happy. 

 

He's not. 

 

At night—when everything is quiet and normal people retire for rest—Sam fails to keep up his performance. He sits in the recliner in his living room, eyes haunted, drinking too much whiskey. John Winchester's journal sits in his lap and the dim light from the overhead lamp lets him see what he writes in it. 

 

Sam's much older now, nearing sixty. His hair is thin, grey, and he is definitely skinnier. The inevitable dead end of mortality has certainly taken its toll. More frail, wiry, a bit slower, shakier, just…  _ older.  _ He's living, stuck in the loop of humanity, and Cas wonders if he's thankful for the  _ gift of life  _ that Dean had ordered Cas to give him. He wonders if Sam's thankful for the sleepless nights, the horrors always within reach, the constant fear for his family, the knowledge that he's always being watched. 

 

That's no life to lead, yet Sam has. If anyone is strong enough, it's Sam Winchester. Though, he's certainly been broken down by it. 

 

He'll drink, write, cry sometimes, and Cas just watches from the street, looks in through the window, wishes he could help. If he could, he'd go in, talk about the issues like they used to, put two fingers to his head and let him rest. Or, maybe he'd just take it all away, just remove the memories and pain so he could have a healthier nightly routine. 

 

But Cas doesn't, can't. 

 

Sam caught sight of him once, just a random glance out the window, and had frozen in the chair. Their eyes had connected, Sam's wide and shocked, Cas’ soft and fond. Yet, Sam's face had twisted sharply, anger and bitterness clouding his face, and Cas had sensed the danger lying in wait behind Sam's gaze. 

 

He'd left, vowing to stay invisible from then on.

 

Even with the knowledge of Sam's hatred, Cas comes back to watch him throughout his daily life. Robby doesn't speak of angels anymore, and he's much older, practically a man now. Eileen's hair is mostly grey, and she has more smile lines than frown lines, somehow has gotten shorter. They don't talk much, just use sign language as their main source of communication. Something about them all around a dinner table, wide smiles and bright eyes, fingers flying… makes Cas’ heart soften. He watches them, aches to join them, wishes he was different. 

 

But he's not. 

 

Cas understands that now. His grace shrivels within him, his wings grow weak, he's dying. It's a reminder of what exactly he is now, what he may have always been. 

 

He has one more flight in him, one that has to count. There are multiple routes he could take. He could fly into their home, disrupt their lives, let them find peace in watching him die. He could even fly to a beautiful spot—mountains overlooking endless plains, the edge of a volcano, or on a cliff hanging over the vast ocean—and just die in peace alone. 

 

Or… Dean. 

 

That options thrums to life within him, gives his grace a pleasant caress. He aches for that more than any other possibility. He  _ misses  _ Dean, wants to be in his arms again, wants to step right back into the security of darkness. 

 

It's only been four months. 

 

Strangely enough, Cas misses his eyes, black and green. He misses the way Dean looks at him, misses how Dean could taunt him, how Dean could surprise him. 

 

Before he'd made his choice, Cas always wondered how he'd find eternity with Dean satisfying, as he is now. Forever of murder and blood, trailing despair and misery across the world until it reaches its end. That never held merit, seemed horrific in its entirety. 

 

Cas was vastly wrong. 

 

Sure, murder and blood are key aspects, but there is so much more. There is Dean's touch, his promises, his  _ love.  _ The despair and misery never quite touch him; he always feels clinically detached. People are just people, Dean is  _ Dean.  _

 

If only his fellow angel brethren could see him now. A proper angel, careless of humanity, turning away from the end of the world in disinterest. Finally, he'd fallen in line, but not quite as expected. But if it was ever to happen, everyone should've known it would be because of Dean Winchester. 

 

“I've made my bed,” Cas whispers to himself. 

 

_ Now lay in it.  _

 

What a bed to lay in. Of all beds to make, surely silk sheets and soft pillows aren't something to bemoan. It's futile for Cas to think it's anything but luxury. Dean has always been what he wanted; he'd take some straw in the dirt as a bed if it meant Dean joined him. 

 

He's tired of trying to be good, tired of trying to do the right thing, tired of constantly being yanked into opposite directions. He loves Dean, but he hates his nature. At what point does that even  _ matter?  _ Cas can't remember, can't recall what he used to tell himself so long ago. It's been decades since he told himself he wouldn't give into Dean, been decades since he fought his desires. It didn't work then, why will it now? 

 

_ It won't.  _

 

Besides, it's far too late, isn't it? He's come too far, done too much, ruined too many things, crossed too many lines. He's not the same, he hasn't changed  _ one bit.  _

 

Cas’ sighs, closes his eyes, and takes flight. 

 

“Sweetheart,” Dean greets, like not a day has passed since Cas abandoned him behind the bar where he'd killed that woman. 

 

Jess, her name was. She had been beautiful, had looked like him. Cas had mourned her, had grieved for himself, had thought terrible, hateful thoughts about her. 

 

He opens his eyes, stares into Dean's black gaze, and has no regrets. 

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas whispers. 

 

Dean's eyes flick to green, soft and loving, and he opens his arms, waits. Cas falls into his embrace, his  _ abyss,  _ and doesn't think he'll ever resurface. 

 

He doesn't want to.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be mindful of the tags this chapter. 
> 
> Another short, but powerful chapter. We're almost at the last now.

_ August, 2056 _

  
  


The call comes as Cas shoves a knife into a man's stomach all the way to the hilt, snatches his hand and guts him. The man sneers, even as he dies, the hatred and rage in his hopeless gaze fading away. Cas watches in a pleased fashion. 

 

The man had hurt many women, had stalked children, was a true predator,  _ a monster.  _ So is he and Dean, but still. 

 

A compromise is a compromise. 

 

The compromise is this: 

 

Dean can choose one person a month of his picking, no matter background or story, and do what he wishes. Cas has nothing to do with it, doesn't join, doesn't help, doesn't even  _ know.  _ Throughout the rest of the month, they kill bad people. Murders, rapists, genuine monsters, whatever the case may be, but  _ not  _ good, innocent people. In this, Cas joins him, helps,  _ enjoys.  _

 

That is the agreement. 

 

Cas justifies it as vigilante work, though it's anything but. Still, he doesn't feel guilty or confusion for liking to rid the world of such evil. If he has his way, they'll be the only bad things to exist. Dean doesn't mind, just likes having his fun, and he especially enjoys that Cas helps him now too. It's an easy medium. 

 

Silver lining. 

 

The man falls to the ground with a dull thud, but Cas is focused on Dean. He doesn't say anything, just listens to whoever is on the phone. Cas waits, feels the blood drop down his fingers, watches Dean's face go hard, carving into stone. 

 

Dean nods, swallows harshly just once. “Okay, make sure he ends up where he needs to.” 

 

The phone drops from Dean's ear, dangles in his loose grip, and his jaw jumps. He no longer looks high on the sight of Cas killing someone. He looks lost in thought, unfocused, dazed. 

 

“Dean?” Cas murmurs carefully. 

 

“Sam's dead,” Dean whispers. 

 

Cas blinks, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest, thrashing against his ribcage. Agony and grief scrambles for purchase within him, pounding loud and steady in his mind. Sam is gone? 

 

“How?” Cas asks, takes a deep breath. 

 

Dean smiles slightly. “He just… got old. Passed away surrounded by his family. It was his time.” 

 

The world suddenly felt different and hollow without Sam Winchester in it. 

 

“What did you mean when you said for him to end up in the correct place?” 

 

“His soul will not be damned to hell, no matter what the final decision was.” 

 

Cas softens, stares at Dean sadly. “You made sure he would end up in heaven.” 

 

Dean nods stiffly, mouth twisting in a grimace, head bowed, words breaking from his throat in a rasp. “He deserves no less.” 

 

Trust Dean Winchester to look after his little brother, even as a demon, even in death. Cas walks over, turns Dean's chin up, gazes at him carefully, gently. His heart aches, and they both will mourn together. But right now, Dean looks as if he's the one who's been gutted. 

 

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, “it's okay to feel loss. You're allowed to grieve him.” 

 

“He was always important to me, Cas,” Dean croaks, eyes green and watery. “He was more important to me than anyone, even you.” 

 

Cas smiles. “I know.” 

 

“Not—not like that. That's not what I meant. You both were…” Dean trails off, doesn't know how to explain. 

 

“Hush,” Cas scolds lightly, shakes his head and strokes Dean's cheek, “I  _ know.  _ You are in love with me, you care for me just as much, but Sam was your brother. It's different.” Cas tilts his head, smiles playfully. “Truth be told, I feel the same way.” 

 

Dean scoffs wryly, clears his throat. “Shut up.” 

 

“I promise I'm not offended. He was important to me too,” Cas reassures kindly, tugs Dean into a tight hug. “He will not be forgotten.” 

 

“I did everything I could, Cas. I kept him alive, made sure he  _ had  _ a life, and stayed out of it. Leaving him alone, letting him be happy… it's the best thing I've ever done for Sam,” Dean admits, his words muffled into Cas’ shoulder. 

 

Cas closes his eyes, thinks about Sam sitting alone in a room, drinking too much and sobbing over those he didn't—couldn't—save. He doesn't reply, just holds Dean close. 

 

And together, they mourn. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go. It's the end.

_ June, 2076 _

  
  


The ground the righteous man burst through is covered in tall grass, the stumps of trees blown down have grown higher, but there is a distinct circle where nothing has changed. 

 

Cas walks to the center, looks at the smooth ground, feels the pulsating energy in the dirt. It's evil, the epitome of  _ wrong,  _ the origin of rage, the nature of destruction. Made of bone and teeth, the first blade rots the ground it's imprisoned in. 

 

Cas frees it. 

 

Of course, Dean's life changed here. He was reborn here. This was the place Dean started his journey to his inevitable becoming, where things took a turn from mere ghosts and ghouls. Burying the blade here was just a tribute, a middle finger to the cosmic universe as a whole. 

 

The blade settles in his palm, buzzes with inefficient energy. It doesn't want him, but it recognizes him, finds kinship among the stain on Cas’ grace. He just settles it in the inner pocket of his trenchcoat, does his best to ignore the weight of it against his thigh as he walks. 

 

Cas can't believe he's doing this, after everything, after all his choices. 

 

But things have changed. 

 

No one prays anymore. There's no faint throb at the back of his skull, once a beautiful litany turned sour from Dean, just… silence. People don't believe in God anymore, don't think of angels, don't even own bibles. 

 

At first, Cas barely noticed the change. Churches disbanded, people stopped worshipping, prayers went quiet, and Cas was too caught up to pay attention. But it became hard to ignore the whispers, the stories, the new myths made. People found a new religion. 

 

They fell back in old habits, believing in Gods as forces rather than one deity controlling it all. Two Gods specifically. Dean and Cas. 

 

It started in the small towns. Whispers and scary stories spread around of two time-travelers that blew through town and dished out punishment to those they saw fit to deserve it. Within four years, they hit the big cities, people talking about them as powerful, as  _ beings  _ rather than two men who found a way to travel through time. By year eight, people were worshipping them, banding cults, sacrificing in their name. 

 

Twenty years altogether and they are the new Gods. People pray to them, though they never hear. People worship them, create new rules in their name. People claim to have connections with them, learn to rule countries with that lie as power. People no longer know what heaven or hell even is, just know that if they are bad, the Gods will punish them. 

 

Those who don't believe… well. 

 

Whether they are punished by Dean and Cas or by those who  _ did  _ believe, it doesn't matter. All that did matter is that the new “Gods” aren't going away anytime soon. 

 

Cas isn't fond of it, but Dean  _ loves  _ it. 

 

Dean enjoys messing with people. He likes showing up at their gatherings, scaring them sometimes, picking his monthly person from there, or even encouraging them on occasion. Whatever suits his fancy, whatever he feels like on that given day. 

 

Things have gotten out of control. 

 

The world has turned dark, has taken a turn for the worst. A lot of people are twisted, even more are just too frightened to fight it. Cas sees it in the way people look at them when they go out. The whispers follow, the eyes stray, the backs turn, the feet scurry away. It's there in the way people wish  _ they  _ weren't, the way people worship them in fear of what will happen if they don't. 

 

Sometimes, Dean just smiles, sharp and vindictive, makes an example out of someone for fun. He breaks the rules now, takes people just because he  _ can.  _

 

_ It's not a murder if they sacrifice themselves, is it, Cas?  _ Dean challenges, laughs with blood in his eyes. 

 

_ I'm not breaking rules, I'm bending them, Cas,  _ Dean taunts, smiles like it's any different. 

 

_ In the end, does it even matter, Cas?  _ Dean asks, waits for an answer he already knows. 

 

But it does matter, or it should. 

 

The waiting game is over, and Cas flies home. The blade buzzes in his pocket, asks the same question over and over. Cas just ignores it, waits for Dean to come through the door. 

 

“I'm going out,” Dean had said, eyes black and merciless. They were rarely green anymore, not now that people know what the black eyes  _ mean.  _ Cas hadn't had to ask where he was going, hadn't had a doubt in his mind.

 

Dean should be home soon, should walk right through the door without a drop of blood on him. But the screams of some innocent will still cling to the stitching in his clothes. The inscrutable faces will still dance behind Cas’ eyes. Dean's smile of his utmost pleasure won't wane for days. 

 

Cas thinks about how he should do it. 

 

Fast and forgiving? A quick drive of the knife into Dean's heart, watching the life flicker from his eyes before shock can fill the gaze? Or, slow and punishing? A torturous drawn-out thing, sobbing over Dean's pleas and making the right choice  _ anyway?  _ The choice he should've made years ago, the choice Sam deserved, the choice that would save this hopeless world. 

 

Cas isn't sure  _ what  _ he's going to do. He knows he should be solid and unwavering, understands that he has all the reasons in the world to kill them both. There is something that calls to him and tells him that it's  _ not  _ right. Maybe it's his mangled grace, maybe it's his unavoidable love for Dean Winchester, maybe it's the truth. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets as he comes in through the door, black eyes swimming in twisted contentment. 

 

Cas does not reply. 

 

Dean peels his leather jacket off, throws it over the chair, and looks up to Cas with a wide smile. Then, he halts. His smile fades, empty eyes flicking over Cas’ tense form, and he waits. 

 

Waits, waits,  _ waits.  _

 

Cas has been waiting for redemption, for the moment when it will finally feel right, but it  _ still  _ hasn't come. The blade in his pocket feels like a betrayal, feels like what choosing Dean never did, feels like destroying the world. 

 

“Cas?” Dean asks, because he knows. Of course, he knows. It's Dean; he  _ always  _ knows. 

 

“I can't do this anymore,” Cas says, wonders if that's true. It feels like a lie, so he amends, “You can't do this anymore.” That feels like a lie too, so he tries again. “ _ We  _ can't do this anymore, Dean.” 

 

And that,  _ that's  _ right. 

 

“Hell of a way to say goodbye, Cas,” Dean murmurs, looks down to the ground with a furrowed brow. He looks sad, looks accepting, looks like he's been waiting for this for a very long time. Cas thinks he has, thinks they both have. 

 

Cas takes a deep breath, reaches in his pocket and grabs the blade, but he doesn't take it out. “We've come too far.” 

 

Dean nods. “We have.” 

 

“I want to be at peace,” Cas whispers, hates how the words grate from his throat. 

 

_ You are at peace,  _ his body shouts at him, his grace screams, his heart begs. 

 

“I know,” Dean replies gently. 

 

“We've come too far,” Cas repeats, because they really,  _ really  _ have, “and—and it's time now.” 

 

“Cas, may I ask you something?” Dean says softly, lifts bright green eyes to meet Cas’ gaze. 

 

Cas swallows. He really shouldn't, but he does anyway. “Anything.” 

 

“Did you ever consider that you're so appalled and hurt by all this  _ because  _ you want it? Because you want me?” Dean asks seriously, lifts his eyebrows in a slight challenge. 

 

“I do  _ not  _ enjoy this,” Cas hisses, bristles under the accusation, grows defensive, tries to beat his mind into submission. He doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't…

 

Dean sighs sadly. “Don't lie to yourself, sweetheart. You want to be powerful, you  _ like  _ it, and you hate that you do. And more than that, you want me, any which way you can get me, and you feel  _ ashamed.  _ You shouldn't, but you do. You have from the beginning.” 

 

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” Cas croaks out, fighting tears. “You must know that. We were supposed to be  _ fine.  _ You were supposed to be human, Sam was supposed to be alive, I was supposed to be…” he trails off, can't continue, because he doesn't  _ know.  _

 

“What?” Dean challenged harshly, nostrils flaring wide in anger. “What were you  _ supposed  _ to be, Cas? An angel stuck under our fucking thumb until we died, and then what? Were you supposed to walk the earth after we died all  _ alone?  _ Is that it? You were supposed to be alone in the end? What, Cas?” 

 

“YES!” Cas explodes, chest heaving as the truth rips its way out of him. “Yes, okay? I was  _ supposed  _ to walk this earth alone, atone for my sins, be punished for all the things I've done, all the things I  _ wanted  _ to do.” 

 

Dean reaches up, rubs a hand over his mouth and swallows thickly. “You just don't know what to do when you're fucking happy, do you? Cas, the angel that fucks up  _ everything!  _ Why can't you just fucking accept that you deserve this?” 

 

“Because it's  _ torture!  _ I want, and I want, I fucking  _ want.  _ How dare I be so selfish!?” Cas yells, marching towards Dean, eyes cloudy with tears. “And how  _ dare  _ I get everything I desire? At the expense of so many? That's the true punishment, isn't it? Maybe I  _ do  _ deserve this!” 

 

“Do not turn your love for me into something wrong,” Dean growls out, fists clenching. “Don't you fucking dare, Cas. You're the best thing this world has, the best thing  _ I  _ have.” 

 

Cas stops mere inches from Dean, looks him dead in the eyes, lets his own tears fall freely, and chokes out, “Am I?” 

 

“Cas, sweetheart, you cannot fight who you  _ are.  _ You are the angel who fell for me, fell for the righteous man, fell for an idiot who didn't—and still doesn't—fucking deserve it,” Dean insists, his own green eyes shining. He hasn't cried in nearly a century. “You keep me  _ sane.  _ You keep the world safe as you can. That little piece of your grace in me that's still pure? It means something. It means  _ everything.  _ I knew I needed you to walk this world with me just so there would still be a world to walk in. You save the world every day.” 

 

Cas feels his throat convulse around a sob, manages a wet breath, says, “Please, please stop. I can't, Dean, I  _ can't. _ ” 

 

“So,” Dean whispers, begs, “don't.” 

 

Cas’ face crumbles and he wrenches the blade out of his pocket, perches the edge right over Dean's heart, weeps. “I  _ have  _ to.” 

 

“You'll go to heaven,” Dean says quietly, never looks at the blade. His voice is hushed when he speaks again. “Cas, you'll have your heaven, but nothing will change.” 

 

The mere thought that his version of heaven will be  _ this  _ makes Cas want to flinch, but he has no reason to believe any different. He's not stupid, and he's tired of lying to himself. Tragically, he's more worried about what Dean gets after…  _ after.  _ Fuck, Cas can't even think it. 

 

“What's going to happen to you?” Cas breathes out, his chest jumping around the wrenching of his heart and the tears that steal his breath. 

 

Dean just smiles. “I'll be okay.” 

 

Cas grinds his teeth together, tightens his hold on the handle of the blade, tries to force it forward. His arm doesn't move an inch, the blade doesn't go forward, and Cas’ moan of pain breaks free from his throat. He repeats  _ please  _ like a mantra in his head, hears it reverberate in his heart, listens to it echo in his grace. He begs his arm to push forward, to do the world a fucking favor for once, but  _ it won't move.  _

 

“Please, please, please,” Cas begs pathetically, unable to see through the tears in his eyes, unable to breathe around the gaping hole in the middle of his chest. 

 

Killing Dean feels like ending the universe. 

 

“C'mon, Cas,” Dean urges, eyes black and glinting, “you say this isn't enough for you, that it's not right, that you can't do this anymore, so do it.” 

 

Cas pants, tries to make his muscles work, fails. 

 

“Do it,” Dean insists, holds his arms open wide and leans into the blade. “Come on, do it!” 

 

“I'm trying!” Cas shouts, heart racing in his chest, ears ringing, tears streaming. 

 

“Do it, Cas,” Dean orders, hard and unforgiving, threatening him, challenging him, demanding him. He looks into Cas’ eyes, bellows, “Do it! FUCKING DO IT, KILL ME!” 

 

Cas shifts from foot to foot, feels the world fall away as his heart breaks in his chest. “I can't. Oh no, no no no, I  _ can't do it,  _ Dean.” 

 

Dean takes a deep breath, throws in a wicked smile, taunts, “Yes, you can. You know me. I murder, I cause pain, I like chaos. Given the right chance, I'll tear this world apart. You hate me, hate my eyes, hate that I'm a monster. Come on, Cas, save the world. For once, don't fucking choose me. Just… do… it.” 

 

And Cas realizes that Dean's right. Though none of his words about Cas hating him are right, it  _ is  _ a choice. The world, or Dean. Is it a choice at all? Cas takes a deep breath, meets Dean's eyes, does the very thing he  _ needs.  _

 

Cas decides. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say that this fic means so much to me. When this story came about, I was having a terrible bout of writer's block, and then this idea really hit me and I ran with it. 
> 
> This made me such a better writer. It was a new style for me and much heavier than I was used to delving into. 
> 
> Overall, this will always be a favorite of mine and my baby. I really hope that everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing and posting it. I was honestly shocked by the people who commented and kudoed the story. I appreciate everything you have to say! 
> 
> I know that ending can leave you reeling, so comment and let me know what you think Cas did; I'd love to hear the guesses! 
> 
> Thank you all <3


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